


Wind, Rain, and Sunny Skies

by KatieBean



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Good Peter Hale, Grumpy Derek, Happy Ending, Homophobic Language, Human Stiles Stilinski, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Mpreg, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Show level violence, Sort Of, The fire happened
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-24 11:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 87,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20357887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieBean/pseuds/KatieBean
Summary: Derek is a sad and lonely alpha werewolf without a pack--Peter doesn't count. Then Peter opens his trunk one night and an omega springs free. Everything changes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've never actually seen Teen Wolf. I'm addicted to the fics, though. I've tried to do my research (watching youtube vids lol) to keep the characters personalities as accurate as possible, so I may be off a little.
> 
> I'm going to aim to add a chapter at least once a week. Hopefully more. I have a baby and write when he naps, so it's not always consistent.
> 
> Please if you like it let me know what you think of this fic. I'm VERY nervous. Even if you don't like it, please let me know what I could do better.
> 
> HOPE YOU ENJOY!!

Despite being an alpha werewolf and ultimately a creature of the night, Derek wouldn’t hesitate to call the abandoned strip mall parking lot a little bit spooky. The waxing gibbous moon shines bright between parted clouds. It casts a dim light over cracked concrete—the occasional dried up weed poking through—while flecks of white light reflect off pieces of dusty broken glass beneath boarded up windows. It doesn’t surprise Derek in the slightest that this is where Peter wanted to meet.

While waiting for Peter he leans against his Camaro and pays special interest to his fingernails instead of looking around, because apparently, even big bad alpha werewolves can get the heebie-jeebies. Looking around makes him paranoid. On one side of him is the dry decaying waste of a decades old building and the other is the barren wasteland of the Mojave desert for as far as his eyes can see. Clearly every scuttle of a tumbleweed blowing through the small lot is a hunter with wolfsbane bullets.

Derek Hale, alpha werewolf, and grown ass man at the age of 29 would never admit to the relief he feels when he sees the blinding headlights of Peter’s vehicle in the distance. When Peter pulls up in his pretentious shiny red tesla, meeping his horn hello, a wave of fondness warms the wolf within him. Derek would slap his wolf if he could.

The excited smile on Peter’s face when he hops out of the car genuinely concerns Derek and erases every last shred of relief he felt moments prior. “What did you do?” he demands.

The ‘who me?’ expression on Peter’s smug face only serves to raise Derek’s hackles. A growl rumbles in the alpha’s chest and he flashes his eyes crimson in a tragic bid to get the other wolf to submit. “You know I think it’s cute when you do that, right?” Peter reaches out to affectionately pinch Derek’s cheek like he’s something sweet and precious and not prickly and bitter. The alpha swats Peter’s hand away and glares fiercely.

“Peter,” Derek snaps, “What did you _do_?”

Peter rolls his baby blues and he saunters toward the trunk. “I got you a present.”

Derek sighs and looks to the heavens as he follows Peter. “Should I kill myself now or later to spare myself the trouble of whatever you brought me?”

Peter gives Derek a manipulative little pout. “A lot of thought and effort went into it.” That worries Derek a lot. A slow-moving trickle of a shiver creepy crawls its way up Derek’s spine, past his triskele tattoo between his shoulder blades and leaves the hairs on his neck on end. He honest to god doesn’t know what to expect when Peter opens the trunk and says, “Do you like it?” 

Derek’s nostrils reflexively flare when the overwhelming musky sweet scent of human omega practically smacks him in the face as it whooshes out of the enclosed space. “No,” Derek snarls through gritted teeth and immediately slams the trunk closed.

“You didn’t even look.”

Derek glares at Peter, the other wolf is the picture of perfect innocence, a bemused smile dancing on his lips, the shape of which matches Derek’s own. It reminds Derek of just how closely they’re related which sends another shiver rocketing over his spine. “It’s not dead is it?”

Peter scoffs. “I’m not a monster.”

Derek quirks a brow but turns his attention back to the trunk, and yes, now that he’s listening for it he can hear the muffled jack-rabbiting heartbeat of the human within. “Take it back,” he demands.

“_He_ didn’t come with a receipt. Final sale.”

Lord have mercy. “Peter,” Derek huffily retorts and unconsciously flashes his eyes red. “Take _it_ back to wherever you got _it_ from.”

“I won _him_ in an illegal and rather unsavory game of poker.” Derek truly has the urge to strangle the man.

Derek blankly stares at the other wolf because, really, what else can he do? “Get rid of _it _then.”

The look that crosses Peter’s face for a mere few milliseconds before settling back to his familiar douchey half smirk is a haunted yet particularly earnest one. Derek doesn’t know how to feel about that. “He’s an omega,” Peter nonchalantly says, which kind of says it all. For all the beta bravado Peter carries around, for all the hormone blockers he takes and scent masking deodorant he wears, it doesn’t change the fact that he, too, is an omega, albeit a werewolf one.

A bit of fight drains from the alpha. “So, what exactly do you expect me to do with it then?”

Peter shrugs. “Do whatever you want with him,” he says while reaching for the trunk. “It’s bound to be miles better than whatever those apes had planned.”

Like a freaking jack-in-the-box, the second Peter lifts the trunk the human springs free. It leaps from the back of the Tesla, arms and legs flailing as it tumbles inelegantly to the ground in front of Derek. Derek is actually taken aback by just how pathetically the human scrambles for purchase, losing a blue converse sneaker in the process. It eventually manages to gain its footing and haphazardly takes off with all the grace of a drunk toddler without a single look back.

Derek gapes, looking a bit stupid with his mouth hanging half open as he watches the human continue to bolt across the parking lot, stumbling over uneven pavement. It incites dumb wolf-brained want-to-chase-and-taste-blood urges that Derek tries desperately to ignore.

“You’ll catch flies like that,” Peter playfully chides. Derek snaps his mouth shut and tears his view away from the human fumbling its way onto the main and only road for miles. He meets Peter’s gaze and he immediately regrets it. The man is looking at him like he knows something the alpha doesn’t and he looks really fucking smug for it.

“Well that solves that problem,” Derek says, motioning in the general direction the human is running. The wolf starts for his Camaro that sits sleek and black a few empty stalls away and completely disregards Peter’s protests. He grabs his keys from the pocket of his leather coat, slides into the car and practically jams the keys into the ignition. He’s about to floor it, peel his way out of this godforsaken parking lot and never think about any of this ever again when he gets that irritating niggling let-me-come-out-and-maim-something feeling from his wolf. It has him craning his neck and looking intently out the back window to see the speck of the human in the distance still going like the little engine that could.

Derek startles when Peter’s knuckles _rap-rap-rap_ on the glass, stealing him away from his violent wolfy thoughts. He presses the button to roll down the window only to have Peter try to pass him the human’s dirty shoe. “What would I need that for?” Derek asks.

“Don’t play stupid, Derek. Just remember that humans are toys. You can take good care of your toys, but you don’t fall in love with ‘em, got it?”

Derek's face sours and he looks Peter square in the eye. “You calling me a faggot?”

Something about Peter’s expression softens in the most condescending way. “I’m calling you a dumb ass.” Peter reaches into the car with his free hand and brushes his fingers through the front of Derek’s inky black hair. The alpha flinches, almost throws himself back across the console to get away from the guy. His wolf stops him, however, and like an all too eager puppy that’s starved for affection he finds himself leaning minutely forward into the touch instead.

“You’re so much like your father, you know?” Peter continues. “He was so handsome and so very stubborn. No sense of humor either.” Peter’s grip suddenly tightens in Derek’s hair. “He also liked to fuck things he knew he shouldn’t.” Peter sneers as he wrenches Derek’s head back and leans in close. “Remember how he burned to death because you couldn’t keep your paws off that hunter bitch everyone told you to stay away from?” Peter roughly shoves Derek’s head away and tosses the shoe into the passenger seat. “I don’t care what you do with that human, but whenever you’re finished having your fun leave him somewhere he won’t get killed. He deserves that at the very least.”

Derek’s glowing red eyes burrow daggers into Peter’s back as the wolf saunters away. “What if, for fun, I kill it?”

Peter gives an amused chortle. “Oh, son, I’d love to see you try.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for taking time to read the first chapter and letting me know what you thought. I really really appreciate it. This one is a bit filler-ish, but I think it helps you get to know Derek a bit better. 
> 
> Enjoy!

As a general rule, Derek tries not to think about his family. They’re all dead. They’re all dead because he was young and dumb and thought he new better. Now he’s older and still equally as stupid but he likes to think he’s at least learned a thing or two. Which leads him to his second rule: trust no one. Including Peter. Hell, especially Peter. That, however, doesn’t stop him from sitting in his car in that horror show of a parking lot for long after Peter leaves to angst over everything the wolf said. If he also listens to Heavy by Linkin Park on repeat and every once in awhile throws in One More Light for added effect… If he sobs so hard his sinuses ache and his eyes feel hot and puffy…well, nobody but him, his Camaro, and the parking lot from hell will ever know.

In the end he leaves the human right where he found him, running headlong into the Mojave Desert. It’ll die of thirst long before hunger, unless a coyote gets it, of course. Then again, Derek could see that bumbling ape of a human step on a rattle snake without ever knowing it’s there. Maybe it’d take shelter in a cave infested with bats and die going mad with rabies. Derek could also imagine it tripping and bashing its head in on a rock, too.

Derek drives three hours in the opposite direction and stops at the nearest motel. It’s nearly dawn when he crashes on a musty old bed that smells like a thousand other people. He’s also fairly certain someone died on it within the last month or two.

He tosses and turns, his thoughts never shutting up and the smells too intrusive. Eventually he ends up on his phone googling the motel he’s at—it has a two and half star rating. Derek types out a review because he’s that kind of wolf and he’s not got anything better to do. _‘If I were going to shoot myself, I’d do it here because I wouldn’t feel guilty about getting my brain matter on the decor.’ _He hits enter and gives it a three-star rating because all in all, it could be worse.

He sighs and tosses his phone to the floral armchair beside the bed. It hits his duffel bag that’s propped on the seat and flops to the floor. It’s a brown shag carpet that smells of feet and cigarettes and copper. It used to be a light beige.

He falls asleep somewhere around 7AM. He dreams of a blazing fire, thick choking smoke, haunting screams, and the way Peter looked like a roasted ham when firefighters carried him from the house.

Derek checks out by 9AM because sleep is for the dead. Or more accurately, the dead don’t let him sleep. A mile down the road he fills up the Camaro’s gas tank with his master card at the pump and grabs a bag of cheap snacks with the change in his pockets.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, he starts with the chocolate milk and eats eight cherry flavored twizzlers before moving onto the Cheetos. While he eats he sees that human’s navy blue converse appearing sad and slumped in his peripheral vision. The tread is worn down and grey with wear, a black spot near the heal from an old piece of gum. Derek observes that one side of the lace is much longer than the other. It annoys the wolf, because who does that? Who laces their shoes and leaves one side a good two inches longer than the other? It’s weird and its blasphemy. He shoves it to the floor, not because he can’t stand the sight of it any longer but because he’s tempted to scent it and he can only imagine what that would look like to folks strolling by.

He’s sucking Cheeto dust off his fingertips when a lady’s voice startles him, “Are you Derek Hale?” she asks. He whips his head to the side, his window already down since he doesn’t want to end up like one of those kids that parents seem to keep forgetting about in their vehicles on hot summer days.

Derek narrows his gaze and gives her a once over, she’s on a curb outside his car. He doesn’t recognize her and she’s human, he can tell just by the light way she carries herself. His own kind walk around like they’ve got the weight of the world on their shoulders. It’s really just the effort of controlling the wolf in them, though. “Yeah, what’s it to you?” he queries.

She gives him a friendly but forced smile and holds up a master card. “Found it at the pump,” she nods toward number 4 with silver Volvo beside it. “I thought I might’ve seen your car pull out as I was coming in.”

“Oh geez,” Derek huffs, wiping the remnants of his Cheetos on the lap of his black jeans before reaching for the card. “Thank you.”

Her friendly smile turns a lot less stiff at the same time her cheeks brighten just a fraction. “No problem.” She makes a move as if she’s about to turn away—thank god—but to Derek’s utter dismay she quickly turns back, her pheromones going through the roof. What was once a subtle feminine scent was now obnoxious. “Hey, if you’re not too busy I know of this really great diner a few blocks away. Pancakes to die for.”

Derek thinks, in another life, in another dimension, despite her cloying smell and the fact that she’s human he might be tempted since he is a man with needs after all and he’s always been a little too desperate to be picky. She has shoulder length mousy brown hair, curled just so, and wide hips that his wolf approves of for purely biological reasons. She even has one of those noses. It’s the kind of nose that’s ugly on its own but somehow suits the face its on and makes the person all the more beautiful for it.

Kate Argent had mousy brown hair and a unique nose. Look how that turned out for him.

He doesn’t bother to respond to her since she has his insides suddenly feeling like a bottomless pit of doom and gloom and dead things. He looks anywhere but at her—mostly at that shoe—and presses the button on the door for the window. For any normal person the slow, painfully awkward slide of the window going up while the woman stands hopeful on the other side would be too much for most. Not for Derek Hale though, not remotely. He doesn’t care about the way her lips twist with confusion, the hurt in her eyes, or how her face flushes with embarrassment. She flips him the bird as she walks away and he thinks _good riddance_.


	3. Chapter 3

Derek pictures vultures pecking out that omega’s eyeballs as it lies listless but not quite dead on the side of the road. The omega will keep going until it can’t anymore and then it will go a little more. If it’s half the omega Peter is then it’s a stubborn little shit that won’t know when to quit. It might also be akin to a cockroach, too. If a nuclear apocalypse were to ever happen, Derek can imagine Peter slithering out of some hovel at the end of it all.

It’s a quarter to a 11 in the morning when his phone rings. He’s in the middle of a big syrupy bite—that lady was right; these pancakes are to die for—when the picture that pops up near Peter’s name tugs on his heart strings in a grief-stricken sort of way. This happens every time. Derek’s pretty sure he picked this particular picture just to make himself feel like shit each time he sees it.

The picture is of Peter of course. It’s actually a grainy picture of a picture. Nevertheless, Peter is looking comfy but tired on a hospital bed. He’s clearly young, all of 18 years of age holding an itty-bitty baby. It’s wrapped like a burrito in a white cotton swaddle, face pink and scrunched with an unruly tuft of black hair atop its little head.

Derek swipes the red button on his screen to send the call to voicemail. Approximately five seconds later when he has a strawberry covered in an ungodly amount of whipped cream speared on a fork right in front of his mouth, Peter calls again. Derek pauses a moment, thinks about it, stuffs the strawberry in his mouth and sends the call straight to voicemail once more. He types out a quick text: _driving._ Peter knows he doesn’t have Bluetooth.

_Liar_, Peter texts back. _I have you on my Friends app. I can see where you are._

Derek sighs, shoving away his plate since he’s suddenly lost his appetite. _What do you want?_

_Just wondering how you and that human are getting along. _A second later Peter adds,_ Feed him better than you feed yourself. You’ll make the human sick with all that junk you eat._

Derek slouches in the booth, his jeans making an awkward noise sliding against the faux leather. _He’s great. Super well behaved. It’s like he’s not even here at all._

_??? That doesn’t sound like him. _

_I left him in the desert._

Predictably his phone rings right after the read receipt comes on. Derek lets it ring until it quits.

_Go get him._ Peter texts.

_No._

_Why did you leave him?_

Derek takes a gulp of ice water, condensation dripping down the glass and over the pads of his fingers. It leaves splotches on the screen of his phone after he types the next message. _Not my omega, not my problem. _

Immediately Peter replies, _He could be yours if you bit him. _Derek chokes on his own spit when he reads that text.

_You’re out of your fucking mind_. Derek turns his phone off and slams it down on the table, rattling cutlery, and causing a few heads to swivel his way. He pointedly ignores them.

Derek tries not to think about what Peter just said but the seed’s been planted. It takes mere seconds for him to feel it germinating in his mind and beginning to sprout. The wolf in him is practically giddy with the thought of turning someone. Derek can’t take his wolf’s feelings seriously, though. That thing is a fiend and half the country would be a werewolf by now if it were up to that mutt.

The thing is, where the wolf in him longs for pack, Derek doesn’t. Not in the same way. He longs for his dead, burning relatives. He desperately yearns for board games on rainy days with his cheating younger siblings. He so intensely misses late nights hiding in blanket forts and reading to whatever sibling crawled in to give him a cuddle. He aches for their touch, their kisses and snuggles, and the lulling smell of home and unconditional love. Derek’s eyes flood with moisture as he thinks of the burnt skeleton of his family home and how it used to feel like it was just as alive as the rest of them. It was always such a cacophony of happy noise, excited movement, and luscious scents.

Derek shakes those thoughts from his mind and blinks away the tears. There’s simply no replacing his family and it feels like it would be an insult to their memory to even try. Plus, he’d probably just get a new pack killed. That’s Derek for you: Bringer of Death and Gas Station Snacks.

A bland and bored looking middle-aged lady approaches to his left. She’s wearing a red apron, darker splotches stained here and there, probably from cooking oil. She clears her throat to get his attention, unaware she already he has it. He looks up at her, concentrating on her forehead instead of her eyes since one of them is looking in slightly different direction than the other and he doesn’t know which one to focus on. “Are you Derek Hale?” he’s asked for the second time today.

“I might be.”

She holds out a cordless landline phone for him to take, clearly a no-nonsense sort of lady. “You’ve got a call,” she says while practically shoving the phone into his hands before taking off towards the kitchen.

Derek sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face as he presses the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“We have a rule about turning off our phones.”

“Peter…” Derek growls, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment so the patrons don’t see his eyes flash red. It doesn’t particularly matter if they do, but they’d gawk if they knew he was a wolf. They might even approach because humans are a curious bunch with no sense of self-preservation.

“Turn it on or I’ll come to you and turn it on myself.” Since Peter’s threats are never empty, he sighs once more and like a good little puppy he does what he’s told. He sends a quick text, _It’s on_. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Call me that again and I’ll use your carotid artery to floss my teeth the next time I see you.”

“No you won’t.” Peter’s not wrong. Derek can’t even argue otherwise without looking like a fool. Unlike Peter’s threats, Derek’s are about as empty as a bottomless pit.

“Are we done?” Derek asks.

“Go get that human.”

Derek huffs out a breath, leans back in the booth and stares at the unsightly popcorn ceiling while wondering just how in the hell his life came to this. Peter is never going to drop it so he may as well give in. “Fine.”

“I’m going to text you an address. Bring him to me there whenever you can. I’ve reached out to a contact and he’s _very_ interested in him.”

Derek bites his tongue to stop himself from asking who this ‘he’ is and what he wants with the omega. He has to remind himself he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. It will _never_ matter. The wolf in him says otherwise; says he saw the human first. “Fine,” Derek distractedly grunts.

“I’m glad we got this settled,” Peter cheerily says, Derek can practically feel the smug triumphant smirk on the other wolf’s face. “We’ll talk later. I love you.”

When he hears the last thing Peter says, Derek nearly hurls the phone across the diner while at the same time his eyes just about bulge from his face and fall to the table. His wolf, however, tingles with warmth and Derek is unexpectedly overwhelmed with affection for Peter. Derek brings the phone back to his face since he’d been holding it out like a disease. He grumbles, “I love you too,” into the speaker before hurriedly hanging up and never thinking about any of this ever again.

He has to flag down his waitress to get the check. She’s young, all of seventeen and very human. When she leaves him the bill he sees that she’s signed her name near the bottom—Laci with an ‘i’ which she dots with a little heart. She also leaves her phone number, too. Derek thinks that’s terribly unprofessional and doesn’t leave a tip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Next chapter Derek and Stiles finally come face to face :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ:
> 
> I made a mistake on the last chapter (which I've since edited). Peter was 18 in the picture where he was holding the baby. NOT 14. That was an older draft with a darker story line. Sorry!

Derek swings by a little mom and pop hardware store before hitting the road. It has a total of six isles. He’s there for rope and duct tape because it never hurts to be prepared. Since werewolves aren’t immune to impulse buys, he also adds a pack of cinnamon gum and a chocolate bar to the pile at the register.

An old man with a greying beard that reaches his beer belly, eyes Derek suspiciously over the rim of his glasses as he rings up the wolf’s purchases. “What’chya got planned, son?” the human queries. He smells like cedar woodchips and engine oil.

Derek quirks a brow and steadily holds the man’s gaze as he flashes his eyes red. “Do you really want to know the mating habits of an alpha werewolf?”

The man’s eyes widen a fraction, his rosy cheeks turning a tomato red. He quickly rattles off Derek’s total and the wolf’s out of there in a flash. Unfortunately, his car's A/C dies an hour into what is likely to be an all-day excursion into the Mojave Desert. It’s 92 degrees out and he’s melting. All the windows are down and he’s tossed his shirt behind him, now his sweaty back keeps sticking uncomfortably to his leather seat.

All in all, the desert is about as exciting as a bowl of shredded wheat. Every once in a while, there’s a slight bend in the road or it dips a little, otherwise it seemingly stretches on forever. Shrubs and Joshua trees dot the dry barren land. Derek thinks Joshua trees are the worst. He gets irrationally angry just looking at them and wishes he could smash the Camaro into each and every one. He listens to I Wasted You, by Flora Cash about a dozen times. When he switches it to My Immortal, by Evanescence, he cries pitifully. He used to have a little brother named Joshua.

It’s a bit after 3pm when Derek passes the abandoned strip mall. It reminds Derek of The Hills Have Eyes, so he drives a little faster. In the end Derek doesn’t even have to search for the human. He was a little worried it would have done something stupid like wander off the road and try to follow the north star or something. Instead, an hour or so past the mall, there the human is, right in the middle of the road flagging him down. The omega looks absolutely ridiculous with its arms flailing and its red hoodie wrapped around its head to presumably protect it from the sun. It’s also has only one shoe on, its once white sock is now black with filth.

Derek pulls to the side of the road, and as the omega hurries closer to his car he thinks this is going to be a lot easier than he thought. “Dude!” The human exclaims, tugging the hoodie from his head and practically shoving his face inside the car. It rests its bare forearms—speckled here and there with freckles and moles—on the window frame as it smiles something genuine and pure. “Dude!” it says again, “Thank you so much for stopping. Do you have a phone?”

Derek does his best to look apologetic. “No service,” he lies… sort of. At best it’s spotty. He nods towards his passenger seat. “I can give you a ride.”

The human sighs and glances behind him for a few moments before looking back at Derek, clearly weighing his options. “You ever kill someone before?”

All the faces of his family flash through his mind. “Not on purpose.”

The human narrows its eyes and squints as if trying to see through him. “You a rapist?”

“Do I look like a rapist?” Derek retorts. The human cocks his head as if he’s not entirely sure. Derek feels insulted.

The human squints at him a little longer before flashing him a wide toothy grin and jogs around the front of the car to the passenger side. The second its seated it throws its hoodie in the back—right on top of Derek’s shirt—and holds out a hand to him. “I’m Stiles. Stiles Stilinski.” For a brief moment Derek thinks Stilinski sounds familiar but the thought is gone as quickly as it had formed.

_Stiles_, Derek’s wolf internally purrs. It’s very Lord of the Rings, in a ‘_my precious_’ sort of way and if Derek could, he’d kick his wolf in the ribs right about now. Derek doesn’t want to look at the human, but his wolf does—his wolf stares hungrily, drinking in the sight of the omega.

Stiles isn’t handsome, not in the stereotypical sense at least. He’s lithe where Derek is bulky. He’s all pretty plump lips, doe eyes, beauty marks and chaotic brown hair. There’s a cherubic sort of innocence to his face, but Derek doubts very much that he’s innocent at all. Omegas have a deceiving way about them, he knows. His father told him all about them.

_“If you see one, run, Derek. I’m serious. If they notice you, if they find themselves interested, they get obsessed. They’ll do everything in their power to ruin you. Peter is proof of that.”_

Stiles waggles his fingers, giving him an expectant look. “I promise I don’t have cooties.”

The wolf takes the human’s hand which is soft and warm and dwarfed by his own. “Derek Hale.”

Stiles gives him a kind smile as he squeezes Derek’s hand. “Well, hello there, Derek Hale. It’s nice to meet you.” There’s a tense moment between them when Derek just stares at the human like an abstract piece of art. He doesn’t know whether he likes it or hates it, and truthfully, he isn’t entirely sure what he’s looking at to begin with. Eventually their hands part ways and Stiles’ smile turns inquisitive. “You got any water? I’m parched.”

His wolf is moving him before he can even think about it. He uncomfortably peels the skin of his back from his leather seat and leans across the omega. He reaches to the floor between the human’s feet where the bag of gas station snacks sits rumpled, in it are a few bottles of water. He grabs two, one for Stiles and one for himself, and as he moves back upright, he inhales deeply through his nose.

Stiles is vanilla and tea. He’s stormy electric skies and rain on river rocks. He’s Christmas—pine and mandarin oranges—and a thousand other intricate notes all pressed together to make the subtle scent that is unmistakably a very fertile omega. Derek finds it disturbingly enchanting, and in the back of Derek’s little wolfy brain he knows there’s a manipulative biological reason for that.

Derek hands Stiles the water, the human’s fingers carelessly brushing over his own. Stiles cracks it open and chugs half of it down, head thrown back. With each gulp Derek watches the omega’s Adams apple bob under silky alabaster skin, the artery up just so and to the right, beating almost in time. Derek licks his lips as he thinks about how it would taste to sink his teeth into that beautifully delicate neck. The wolf in him howls in delight at the thought.

“Born or bitten?” Stiles asks while placing the bottle in the center console cup holder. Derek tears his eyes away from the human’s jugular and automatically places his unopened water beside Stiles’.

“What?” Derek says lamely.

Stiles laughs a joyful little jingle and punches Derek right on his bare bicep. Derek barely feels it but he’s nevertheless aghast that the human just touched him on purpose. “Anybody with a lick of sense can tell you’re a wolf. You’re all, you know…” He waves his hands in Derek’s general direction. “Plus, you look at me like you want to eat me.” And yet the human still got in the car. Derek doesn’t think this omega has any sense whatsoever. “So, born or bitten?” Derek’s face sours. “Is it rude to ask that?” Stiles queries.

It’s very rude. It’s like asking someone’s sexuality. You just don’t do it since it’s none of your damn business. Of course, born, like heterosexual is the preferred and more accepted answer—of which Derek is most assuredly both. Being a born wolf is also a thing of pride and some wolves are particularly boastful about it, but Derek himself has never been much for peacocking.

Stiles’ eyebrows raise a little as he looks at Derek, clearly eager for an answer. “Born,” Derek says. The human grins excitedly which Derek takes as a positive response, so he flares his eyes red and drops his fangs just enough to give Stiles a peek of them. He’s never been _much_ for peacocking.

Stiles’ mouth is in a tight ‘o’ shape, clearly wowed. “You’re an alpha?! That’s so bad ass!” Derek’s wolf preens at those words.

Derek puts the car in gear and does a quick u-turn, wheels doing a slight burn-out in the dirt and sand as he takes off down the road—a cloud of dust puffing out behind them. “I’ll take you to the nearest town.”

“How far away is that?”

“About four hours.” Stiles visibly deflates at that. Derek shoots Stiles a wicked grin, and lets his foot become a bit heavier on the gas. “Three if I drive fast.”

“So bad ass,” Stiles giddily whispers to himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh you guys, thank you so much for letting me know you like the story!!! It motivates me so much, you have no idea. I got a whole new chapter done even though I just posted yesterday.
> 
> I hope you like this one just as much!

They’re about an hour into the drive when Stiles slides out of his own sweaty t-shirt and chucks it behind him on the ever-growing pile on the back seat. Derek is scandalized because omegas didn’t and _shouldn’t_ do that, but Stiles _did_ and Derek’s wolf loves it. Derek, well, Derek just tries not to stare and to keep the car from going off-roading. It wasn’t built for that.

Derek is white knuckling the steering wheel, hands 10 and 2, when Stiles pipes up. “Can you tell what I am?”

Derek plays stupid. “A human?”

“I’m a carrier,” Stiles says whatever that is like it’s a deep dark secret.

Derek furrows his eyebrows. “A carrier of what?”

“A womb”

“I can smell that you’re an omega,” Derek says. “It’s… pungent.”

Stile’s wrinkles his nose at that. “Humans are called carriers.”

“That sounds like a disease.”

“Isn’t it?” Derek takes his eyes off the road to look at Stiles. There are beads of sweat gathered on the human’s forehead, cheeks flushed with warmth and nose a bit pink from being out in the sun all day. There’s an earnest and vulnerable expression on the human’s face. Nevertheless, Derek knows this is a test if there ever was one.

“You get a lot of shit for being an omega?” Derek deflects because he honest to god has nothing good to say about them.

Stiles shrugs but the bitter scent of sadness that rolls off him says it all. “Wow, the mood has gone to shit in here,” he says, fidgeting uncomfortably. “You got any good music?”

“Glovebox.”

Stiles happily opens the glove box. He pulls out the zippered binder that holds Derek’s CD’s in protective sleeves. “Old school, I like it.”

The human hums and haws as he sifts through the binder, none of it seemingly up to his standards. After what feels like an eternity Stiles turns to him. “Should I be concerned?”

The muscles in Derek’s shoulders tighten. “Concerned about what?”

“Uh, _you_.” Stiles holds out the binder, almost shoving it into the side of the wolf’s face. “This is tragic,” he says while giving the binder a shake. “All you need is an Evanescence album to complete the collection.”

Derek tries to fight down the heat he feels creeping up his neck and over his cheeks. Evidently the omega has the eyes of eagle because he notices Derek’s struggle immediately. “Dude!” Stiles exclaims, leaning forward and pressing eject button on the CD player. Evanescence slides smoothly out. “_Dude_!” Stiles grips it, smudging his finger prints all over the shiny side, nearly giving Derek an aneurysm. The human carelessly slaps it into the binder, not bothering with a sleeve, zips it up and says, “You’ll thank me later.” Then he chucks it out the window.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Derek bellows, flabbergasted by the omega’s audacity. His wolf, however, dances giddily in his mind and wants nothing more than to come out and play with Stiles. Derek’s eyes flick to the rear-view mirror where he sees the binder quickly getting smaller on the side of the road, a little plume of dust around it like a mini atomic bomb.

“Those,” Stiles says, pointing out the back window. “Are torture devices, not music.” _That’s the point, _Derek thinks. “Keep driving,” the human instructs him, “Leave that shit in the past, man.” The wolf grits his teeth but does as he’s told. He puts his eyes on the road ahead and keeps the car moving forward. CDs, after all, can be replaced.

Derek ignores Stiles after that since the alpha is a complete child. He’s mad at the omega and pays no attention to Stiles’ attempts to start a conversation. Nevertheless, he’s hyper aware of him. Stiles is a twitchy little thing that never stops moving. Whether Stiles is chewing his bottom lip, bouncing his knee or fiddling with his fingers, he’s moving. Derek wants to yell at him to stop, to sit the fuck still, but he doesn’t think the human is capable of it.

The wolf in him looks where he shouldn’t and doesn’t, but the wolf _does_, so he sees too. Stiles has beautifully pronounced collar bones, strong shoulders, and lithe arms. His chest is minutely fuller than the average males because Stiles technically has breasts, he can feed children and he should be covered… but he’s not, so the wolf looks and looks and looks. He has beauty marks there, too. The wolf wants to bite them.

Every once in a while, they make awkward eye contact since Derek’s wolf is a perverted creep and can’t stop looking. Stiles keeps giving him beguiling micro smiles which only serves to set Derek’s scowl deeper into his face.

Eventually Stiles starts messing with the radio, clearly trying to find something to distract him but only coming up with static. “I’m bored,” he complains. “Wanna sing me a song?”

“I’d sooner stick forks in my eyes.”

“Dramatic. Want me to sing you a song?”

Derek glares menacingly at Stiles. “Want me to stick forks in _your _eyes?”

Stiles crosses his arms in an annoyed huff and flops back in his seat, slouching. “Ideally not,” he grumbles.

They have a whole blessed moment of silence, Derek just starting to relax when the human’s stomach starts rumbling. Derek has the sudden urge to punch him. He wouldn’t, but the urge is there. His wolf, on the other hand, wants to press his nose to Stiles’ throat and lick a stripe up that pale flesh to see if he tastes as tantalizing as he smells. Derek feels so utterly betrayed by that vulgar beast.

“Are you going to eat those?” Stiles asks, pointing toward the snacks by his feet.

Derek shrugs. “Pass me the Twizzlers.”

Stiles beams a sunny sweet smile at him and passes him the package. Derek puts it on his lap, steers the car with his left hand and pulls a few pieces of licorice out with his right. He tosses one at Stiles’ face.

The human laughs, amber brown eyes glittery in the sun. They take a bite of their perspective pieces in time. “So, _alpha_, what do you do?” Stiles questions teasingly, it nevertheless sends a little euphoric shiver up Derek’s spine. “You, like, a GQ model or something?”

Derek snorts in amusement. “Are you fucking with me?”

Stiles raises a curious brow and gives him a once over. “You’re the living embodiment of tall, dark, and handsome.” Stiles thinks for a second and nods to himself. “You’re totally mysterious too.” The human takes another bite of licorice while Derek firmly pretends he didn’t just hear any of that.

“What’s your girlfriend’s name? A wolf like you must have a girlfriend.” Stiles is clearly way too curious for his own good and is fishing for information; he isn’t at all subtle. “Are you married? Do you have children? How big is your pack? How old are you?” Stiles bends down, ruffles through the bag of snacks and comes up with a handful of sour cream and onion chips. “Oh, don’t tell me that last one! Let me guess.”

Stiles leans closer to the wolf, resting an elbow on the center console as he munches on the chips. He stares at Derek with scrutinizing eyes for an extraordinarily uncomfortable minute or two. “36,” he says with an air of finality.

Derek whips his head to the side, he growls at the human, bearing his fangs while flaring his eyes red. There’s no way Derek looks _that_ old.

Stiles startles, a few chips go flying, but the human cackles evilly as he digs in the bag for more. “You’re 27 and half.” _That’s better_, Derek thinks, cooling his features.

Stiles comes up with two handfuls and puts one on Derek’s lap beside the Twizzlers. Derek begrudgingly eats them. “I’m 29,” Derek tells him.

“How old do I look?”

“12,” Derek quips.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Be serious.”

Derek shrugs. “I don’t know. 23?”

“21,” Stiles corrects. “Want to play I Spy?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

Stiles places another handful of chips on Derek’ lap when he runs out.

“So,” Stiles starts, trying and failing to sound casual. “Do you have a girlfriend? I don’t have girlfriend… or boyfriend… in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

That doesn’t dissuade Stiles at all. “What does your wolf think of me?” _That_, is a very intimate question, Derek thinks. It wasn’t necessarily a bad one, but in Derek’s experience humans didn’t typically separate him from his wolf. Humans usually saw werewolves as distinctly one being. He and is wolf are technically one in the same. He’s the wolf, the wolf is him, but they are two that equal one.

“He thinks week old roadkill smells great. He doesn’t get an opinion.”

Stiles laughs, evidently delighted by that. “What’s he like?”

“Stupid, reckless,” Derek glances at Stiles who looks absolutely enthralled. The wolf in him swoons. “Stupidly and recklessly passionate,” he says fondly. “He’s like a big untrained puppy gallivanting around my mind.” That also occasionally likes to maim and kill things, but Derek doesn’t say that.

“I like him.” Warmth flutters in the wolf’s belly. The wolf very much likes the human, too. Derek thinks his wolf is a foul traitor.

Stiles steals a Twizzler from Derek’s lap. “What were you doing out here today? Not that I’m complaining.” He smiles a little sheepishly at Derek. “I’d be your damsel in distress any day of the week.” Alarm bells ring in Derek’s mind. The human is flirting with him. He’s flirting terribly, but Derek is absolutely certain the omega is flirting.

Derek meets Stiles’ eyes and coldly states, “There’s only one reason I came out here.” The second he says it he almost regrets it. His wolf snaps and snarls inside him because the wolf wants and Derek is pushing the omega away.

Stiles makes a face, one that slowly turns uneasy. “Was it to go for a long, leisurely drive?”

“Look under your seat.”

Stiles does as instructed and leans forward, digging his hand awkwardly between his ankles and under his seat. Derek can tell the moment the human finds it since Stiles’ whole body stiffens. “Well fuck,” Stiles says, and for one split second the wolf foolishly thinks this is it, the omega will finally shut up and behave himself.

Out of nowhere the shoe that was under the seat smashes him in the face, his nose taking the brunt of it. The pain stuns him, blood instantly gushing, and at the same time the human is hollering as it lunges for him. Not only does it bite the meat of his shoulder but it goes for his eyes with one hand and yanks on the steering wheel with the other, sending them careening off the road and headlong into the desert. Derek slams his foot on the brake pedal as the car bounces and rattles on uneven ground.

In the mere moments it takes Derek to gather his wits after the car is stopped—his nose and shoulder quickly healing—Stiles is off of him and out the passenger side door. Derek uses the button to his left to pop the trunk, then he quickly emerges from the car—Twizzlers and chip crumbs falling to the dusty ground—and leaves it running in his haste.

Blood stains his face and chest, his features instantly contorting as he sets his wolf free. He’s all heavy brows, sharp claws, even sharper fangs, and red glowing eyes as he prowls into the desert after the human. Unlike last night, Stiles looks back this time. “Fucking psycho wolves!” he screams when he catches sight of Derek.

“I’m not going to kill you!” Derek shouts after him, words coming out a bit garbled from his fangs.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?!” Stiles hollers over his shoulder, which prevents him from looking where he’s going, which also prevents him from seeing the Joshua tree he runs head first into.

The human goes down like a sack of potatoes and Derek’s astonished once more just how incompetent at life this omega truly is. He easily catches up to Stiles and looms over him, his shadow blocking the sun from the human’s squinting face.

Stiles groans, lifting a hand to touch the cut along his forehead, a little bit of blood colors the pad of his index finger. “You should know I get horrendous diarrhea when I’m stressed.” Derek’s wolfish face twists with both disgust and confusion. “You know, in case you plan on keeping me prisoner. ‘Cause that would be really _stressful_.”

Derek lets his features slide back to human. “You’ve got two options: come with me or die.”

Stiles gasps. “You just said you wouldn’t kill me!”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I meant I’d leave you here... and then you’d probably die.”

“Well, okay then, I’ll take my chances,” Stiles says, pulling himself to his wobbly feet, dirty sock half off and floppy. Despite being half naked, sweaty, and absolutely filthy he looks at Derek with all the determination in the world. “Leave me here.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“You don’t be stupid! What are you even thinking, you mutt?!” _Rude_. “What do you even want me for?” Literally nothing, Derek thinks. His wolf can think of a thousand things, though.

“You should be thanking me,” Derek retorts, crossing his arms defensively.

“Thanking you?!” Stiles frantically yells. “For what? Abducting me?”

“You got in my car willingly.”

The omega’s jaw drops. “Under false pretenses!”

“It’s not my fault you’re an idiot.”

Something in Stiles’ gaze hardens at the same time his shoulders slump. In a few minutes Derek will have wished he paid more attention to the former. “Whatever,” Stiles grumbles in defeat. “Let’s go.”

“Thank god,” Derek huffs. He follows behind the human as it trudges to the car like a scorned child sent to time out.

Stiles flops into the passenger seat, he tosses Derek the unopened water bottle from earlier and says, “Clean yourself up, you look like you just ate someone.”

Derek smirks at that and makes his way to the opened trunk. Luckily, he hadn’t had to put the human in here. Although, he sees the rope and duct tape and thinks now might be the time to use it. He could tie the omega up, duct tape his mouth shut, and toss him in the back seat. Then he’d have a nice peaceful drive back to town. Once there he could call Peter and figure out what to do with the human.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, he hears the telltale sound of his car being put into gear. “Stiles!” he roars, barely taking half a step before his tires are spitting dirt and gravel at him. He curls in on himself a bit, protecting his eyes as the car slides across the ground and takes off like a rocket toward the road.

“Who’s the idiot now, dumbass!” He hears the human yell as it drives away, hand out the window, angrily waving the middle finger. That’s the second time today someone’s flipped him the bird. Derek thinks, maybe, just _maybe, _he deserved it this time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit people, I love you all so much! I'm so so glad you guys are liking it. I wish I could write nonstop for you all.
> 
> This chapter and the next Stiles is absent but after that he should be constant in every chapter. Derek just needs to get back to him ;) I LOVE writing them together.

Derek wants to scream. Twelve miles and four painful, scorching under the sun hours later, he finds his stuff strewn all over the road. Not his wallet, though. That was conveniently missing.

Derek does scream. He unleashes his wolf and just wails. If he takes out a few Joshua trees at the same time… well, they had it coming.

Later, while collecting his stuff he finds his phone in a dried-out husk of a bush. The screen is cracked but he can still navigate it. He spends the next six hours searching the desert for a single bar.

Peter rescues Derek a day and a half later. The alpha almost wishes the other wolf had left him to die because it honest to god would be preferable to the inscrutable look Peter is giving him over the roof of his Tesla.

“You underestimated him, didn’t you?” Peter says, a crooked little smirk forming on his smug conniving face. Derek does nothing, just stares because at this point he thinks it’s fairly obvious what happened. He’s also not going to help Peter gloat about it.

“You look like shit,” Peter eventually adds. There’s no denying that either. His stubble is now wayward scruff. Lord only knows what his hair is doing. He’s got blood crusted to his chest and face, some of it his own, most of it from a few unfortunate critters he came across along the way. His hands and arms are filthy, caked in both blood and dirt. He can also smell his own armpits and there isn’t even a breeze. He’s having a hell of a day.

“Get me the fuck out of here,” Derek snarls as he yanks the car door open and throws himself onto a pristine cream leather seat.

Peter smoothly slides into the car after him and side eyes Derek with a wrinkled nose. “Don’t touch anything.”

“Shut up.”

“You know,” Peter drawls. His car seemingly coming to life all on its own, cool air blasts from the vents causing goosebumps to rise on Derek’s skin. “I don’t think you’re in any position to tell me what to do.”

Derek growls, eyes flashing red. “I’m the alpha.”

“Oh, my darling boy, and what an alpha you are.” A little piece inside Derek’s ashy wooden heart cracks because the disgust in Peter’s voice is palpable.

Derek grits his teeth and sets his eyes sullenly on the road. “I didn’t even want to get the human in the first place.”

“Well, that’s your problem, Derek. You don’t want to do anything other than mope and brood and listen to your sad, shitty music.” Not anymore, Derek thinks. He can vividly remember Stiles tossing his collection right out the car window.

Peter pauses a moment, his gaze incrementally softens. “I thought an omega might help you _release _some of your frustrations.”

Derek thinks he might actually puke. “In what world, Peter? Jesus Christ.”

“It’s what your father would do.” Derek hates the way Peter says that so casually, like it’s some meaningless inconsequential fact. He doesn’t even bother to look at Derek when he says it, just calmly pulls the car out onto the road.

Despite not looking, Peter must at the very least sense his struggle. “Don’t think too hard about it. Things are different between an alpha and omega. It’s natural.”

Derek turns his head to see Peter’s face. He’s so much different than the very first memories Derek has of him. Peter is all hard lines and even harder edges. He’s not what people imagine when they think of an omega. He used to be. He used to be this skinny meek thing scurrying around his family home, barely seen, barely heard.

When Derek was no more than five, he remembers that Peter would sneak into his room late at night. He’d press a silky warm palm to Derek’s cheek and his nose to Derek’s hair, breathing him in while whispering the sweetest, loveliest words into Derek’s ear.

Peter used to smell like soft things, a damp meadow, and momma. Now he smells like gun smoke, steel, and the bitter tinge of grapefruit. Under all that, though, Derek can still smell the comforting familial bond that tells him Peter is his mother.

“I’d never do _that_ to an omega,” Derek says.

“You’re weak,”

Derek grits his teeth, fangs threatening to drop as he fists the thighs of his jeans, squeezing tightly to keep his claws from making an appearance. “I’m not weak.”

“Omegas aren’t your equal.”

“I didn’t say otherwise.”

Peter glances at Derek. “You’re an alpha werewolf. If you want something, you take it. End of story.”

Derek’s eyes flash red as his wolf forces itself forward. Derek doesn't want that, but even if he did... “I won’t take _that_,” he growls.

Peter nods, gripping the wheel a little tighter than before. “You’re still weak, but at least you’re a better man than your father.”

#

It’s late by time they get checked into a hotel in Apple Valley. It’s nothing like the motels Derek typically finds himself at. It’s ornate with its marble floors and gaudy golden railings, Derek would expect nothing less from Peter’s pretentious snooty self.

People stare as he makes his way to their room, Peter a half step behind him. A little old lady with a Versace purse rides the elevator with them. She pats his disgusting shoulder and calls him dear. Derek likes her. She gives him a mint.

He’s dead on his feet by time he’s out of the shower. He flops into bed and he thinks that if clouds were tangible, they’d feel like the mattress he’s on. It smells like laundry detergent and countless others. He sleeps anyways and dreams of blue shoes and pale skin.

It’s the clinking of dishes that wakes him. The French doors are wide open, the curtains around them fluttering in the breeze. Peter is out on the balcony at the little round table pouring two glasses of orange juice.

Derek grumbles obscenities as he drags himself out of bed. He pulls a pair of Peter’s old sweats over his boxers and makes his way to the table. The balcony overlooks the pool, there are already a few people lazing by it sipping mimosas. 

Peter hands him a plate loaded with fruit salad, eggs, sausage, and a couple pieces of French toast with purposefully minimal syrup. Peter also hands him a bowl of whipped cream. “Only a little.” Peter tells him. Derek snorts at that and dumps the whole thing over his fruit salad.

Peter sighs. “You’re such a child.”

Derek wolfishly grins and stuffs an entire sausage into his mouth. “This is good.” He says with a mouth full of half chewed food.

Peter looks a bit disturbed but he at least gives Derek a few minutes to eat in peace before he begins talking. “I want to discuss something with you.”

Derek glances up from his plate. “About what?”

“That omega.”

“No.” Derek firmly states and goes back to eating his food.

“He’s just about maxed out your credit cards.” Derek grits his teeth, the fork in his clenched hand bends until it breaks. It clatters to the table. “You’re going to need to get those back,” Peter tells him.

Derek takes a deep steadying breath and leans across the table, stealing the fork beside Peter’s untouched plate. Alphas eat first after all. “Just cancel them and pay them off.”

“And your car?” Peter questions. Exasperated, Derek huffs around a mouthful of grapes and pineapple. “He humiliated you,” Peter says, “you need to show him who the alpha is.”

Derek swallows the fruit and takes a big fluffy bite of scrambled egg. “Oh yeah? You want me to teach him who’s boss and give him the what for?”

It’s Peter’s turn to look exasperated. “I’m being serious.”

“Forget it. If he has any sense at all he’ll have ditched the car by now.” Peter lifts his phone off the table and hands it to the wolf. It’s a map of California and there’s a little blue blob a few hours away traveling north on the 395.

Right, how could he fail to remember that the human has absolutely no sense whatsoever and Peter is the creepiest creep of them all. “Really, you track my car?”

Peter gives him a scolding ‘you’re a dumbass’ look. “Clearly for good reason.”

Derek shakes his head. “I’m not going after him.”

“You are.”

“No.”

“I’ll let you take the Tesla.”

Derek perks at that. Peter has never let him drive it, and as pompous and red as it may be, he’s curious. “Really?”

Peter laughs. “Hell no.” Peter lifts his butt and grabs something from his back pocket. “Here, I bought you a bus ticket. It leaves in an hour."


	7. Chapter 7

Peter walks him to the bus stop. They’re sitting side by side on a bench. It’s a little awkward since he can tell Peter wants to say something but he’s hesitating. That’s unlike Peter and typically it only happens when a heart to heart is imminent. Derek dreads what comes next.

“Derek, I’ve been meaning to give you something,” Peter eventually says.

“I don’t want it,” Derek growls out. The last thing Peter gave him was Stiles. _Worst gift ever._

Peter holds his palm open in front of Derek, in the center of it is an engagement ring. It’s a beautiful white gold, clearly an antique. The intricate details have the band looking like leaves and vines, they elegantly compliment and protect a glittery square cut diamond. Derek has never seen anything like it.

Derek shakes his head and pushes Peter’s hand away. “No.”

Peter sighs and curls his fingers protectively around the ring. “It was your great-grandmothers.”

“I don’t care.”

“She raised me until she passed. When I was born my parents left me to the forest.”

Derek’s eyes widen and his stomach churns. “To die?”

Peter nodded. “My grandmother found me.” Peter gave him a melancholic smile. “She was kind to me. Too kind, really. She was utterly senile, to be honest. She gave me the ring thinking I could wear it one day. I even thought, you know, maybe…” Peter reached for Derek’s hand and placed the ring in it. “Then your father married my sister and that was the end of that.”

“Peter,” Derek tries to object, to give the ring back.

Peter doesn’t let him and he forcefully closes Derek’s fingers around the ring. “I want you to keep it. I want you to put it on someone special one day.”

“I won’t.”

“Alphas aren’t meant to be alone.”

“I have you.”

Peter quirks a brow. “Sure, that worked out great for Norman Bates.”

#

Despite not thinking about family being a general rule for Derek, he’s pretty shit at following it. The vast majority of the time he feels consumed by the memory of them. Sometimes, like now, as he sits on the bus to nowhere, fiddling with the ring Peter gave him, he wonders if he’ll ever have another family, one that consists of a kindhearted wife and a bunch of rambunctious pups tearing up a big house in the woods.

Derek can’t imagine someone loving him. Loving is looks? Most likely. Loving his money? Most definitely. But truly loving _him _as a person? No. No, there’s nothing to even love.

After a while Derek replaces the ring for his phone. He runs his fingers over the cracks, thinks of Stiles a little too much, and opens and closes Peter’s message screen just about a thousand times. He doesn’t know why, the wolf in him has the urge to talk to him. To seek comfort. For what? Derek doesn’t even know.

He starts scrolling through old pictures. Mostly of landscapes, a few of his car, but then he notices a few new ones near the top. Once he sees them Derek can’t help himself; he laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs. Perhaps a bit manically since people are staring. Derek pays no mind because the pictures are selfies of Stiles, all in various poses of the middle finger.

The last one catches his breath, though. Stiles is beauty personified. There he is, shirtless with milky skin on display, smack-dab in the middle of the sunny desert road, eyes aglow with joy while he blows Derek a kiss. Behind the omega he can see his car and all his clothes strewn across the road. It’s outrageous and obscene, and it does things to him. The wolf desperately wants.

Derek’s phone buzzes in his hands. _Get off the bus in Big Pine. He’s been parked at the Bristlecone manor motel for a while now. The bus should go right by it. He’s likely planning on spending the night there. _

Derek doesn’t know what to say back to Peter so he says nothing. It doesn’t matter, about fifteen minutes later Peter texts him again. _Have you thought more about giving him the bite?_

_No_, Derek lies. He’s thought about it. He’s thought a lot about it. He’s not going to do it. Well, he’s probably not going to do it.

_If you don’t want a family of your own you need a pack._

Derek sighs, _It’s not about what I want._

_Oh, so it’s about punishing yourself? _Peter’s not wrong. A few seconds later he adds, _You can’t dwell on the past forever. _Oh, but Derek sure can try.

Derek’s about to put his phone away when the little bubble icon comes up on his screen informing him Peter is typing more, so he waits. He regrets it once he reads the message. _You deserve to be happy._ Derek honestly doesn’t know if that’s true or not.

Derek puts his phone in his pocket and leans back against the headrest, closing his eyes. He snoozes for the next two hours and is abruptly woken up by the bus driver shouting they’re pulling into Independence. Derek ignores it and tries to go back to sleep, unfortunately someone clears their throat by his seat. Derek’s sitting by the window, his duffel bag on the other seat. That’s supposed to mean fuck off.

“Seat’s taken,” Derek says.

“I need to sit,” the guy insists. Derek hears the rustle of fabric, clearly someone touching his bag to move it.

Derek snaps open his eyes and grabs the man’s thin wrist, wrenching his bag away with the other and pulling it to his lap. “What the fuck are you doing?” Derek snarls.

“I _need _to sit,” the guy says once more, a little more adamantly this time. It’s then Derek sees that the guy has his free hand protectively over his rounded and heavily pregnant belly. Derek’s eyes briefly flick around the bus, his is the only seat left and people are staring.

Derek can’t help it, his face goes a violent shade of red as he rips his hand away from the omega. “Sorry,” he mutters, turning his face away to look out the window. He pretends he’s anywhere but there because even an alpha werewolf can’t deal with that kind of embarrassment.

“Bad day?” The guy asks.

“You have no idea,” he grumbles.

“I get it,” the guy says. Derek hesitates but eventually looks. It’s a pretty thing, most are. Curly blond hair and a young face. He looks tired. Derek subtly scents the air and deduces the guy is extraordinarily human and inconveniently and obviously omega. He smells like mountain air and new life.

The guy smiles, one of his top front teeth slightly overlap the other. It’s not nearly as dazzling as Stiles’ smile. The guy nods toward his belly. “Wanna feel?”

Derek eyes widen and he fervently shakes his head. That would be so freaking weird. “Oh, no—” Derek starts to decline but the guy cuts him off by grabbing his hand and placing it on his stomach. Derek immediately feels a little jolt beneath the taught skin and he yanks his hand away as if he’d been stung.

The guy doesn’t seem to notice his struggle at all and simply says, “Kinda magical, isn’t it?”

For moment Derek’s about to say the complete opposite. For a moment he thinks he might be at least partially scarred for life. Yet, he suddenly begins to imagine what it would be like to have someone round and beautiful and full of life with his own child and he finds his hand creeping back and pressing gently to the guy’s belly. He gets a few good kicks right away.

“Can you believe there’s actually a tiny human being in there?” The guy queries. There’s something in his hazel eyes, something amazed and excited, and if Derek had to guess he’d call it love.

Derek removes his hand and says. “I can hear its heartbeat.”

The guy immediately looks stunned. Perchance a little shocked since he just put a werewolf’s hand on his vulnerable belly, but then Derek reaches out, just barely brushing the pad of his index finger over the top of the guy’s hand and taps out the beat. It’s a fast but healthy 135 beats per minute.

The human’s face drastically softens. “That’s him?” he tearily questions. Derek nods in agreement. “His name is Angus,” he says adoringly. Derek tries to school the horror on his face because that’s just about the worst name he’s ever heard. “My little Gussy.”

Derek practically flies off the bus when it reaches Big Pine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is back to mostly Stiles and Derek. I'm excited! From here on out it should be that way. Peter will be around here and there since he's Derek's mommy, lol. Hope you don't mind :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I so love writing these boys together. I hope you enjoy!

The heat just about suffocates Derek as he steps off the bus. He throws his duffel bag over his shoulder and instantly starts sweating where it rubs against his shirt. He curses everything in his life that led him to this very moment. He especially curses Stiles, but mostly curses Peter because everything is somehow Peter’s fault.

Derek would describe Big Pine as brown and old and slightly sinister. Population count: less than 2000. The mountains surrounding Big Pine are beautiful at least. Nevertheless, small towns like this give him the creeps. Everyone knows each other and there are secrets. So many secrets. Sometimes deadly ones. Those ones are the worst.

Derek can actually see the Bristlecone Manor Motel from the bus stop. It’s one story and in the shape of an ‘L’. He’d also describe it as brown and old. In the distance he can luckily see his car sitting perfect and sleek in the parking lot. He hurryingly crosses the road and heads down the block for it, cutting through a gas station parking lot.

Derek circles the car and peeks inside. Besides the horrifying—even by his standards—amount of fast food wrappers and old drink containers, the car looks just how he left it. He meanders toward the motel and discreetly scents the air as he inconspicuously as possible starts looking in windows. Stiles has definitely been here. He can smell him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” A man barks from a few doors back. Derek sighs, he truly is yet to master the whole inconspicuous thing.

Derek turns around, plastering on what he hopes looks like friendly smile and not a feral grin. His smile faulters when the man brandishes a pistol. “It’s loaded with wolfsbane bullets,” the man threatens, although the man himself is not particularly threatening. Just a regular 40-something-year-old Joe Blow playing tough guy.

A lady calls out from inside their room. “Oh, Mark, there’s gotta be a perfectly reasonable—”

“Quiet now, Lindsey,” he shouts back, cutting her off. He lifts the gun and points it at the wolf. Derek drops his bag and raises his hands trying his best to look innocent. He’s not very good at that either. “What are you doing snooping around here? You some kind of pervert?” Well, if Derek was a pervert, he certainly not going to admit to that with a gun pointed at him.

“I’m looking for someone,” he says, trying to sound casual.

“I’ll bet you are.” Derek has to try his damnedest not roll his eyes at that.

“I, uh—” he starts, attempting to quickly come up with a good explanation for being here. Before he can think better of it, he reaches for his pocket.

“Don’t move! You got a weapon?” _I am the weapon_, Derek thinks.

“No, man, just a ring.”

“A ring?”

“An engagement ring.” He reaches for his pocket once more and this time the man lets him. He grabs the ring and holds it out for him to see. “I’m looking for my…” God, he doesn’t want to say it. “My, uh…”

“Your what?” The man says, quirking his eyebrow.

_Lord strike me dead_, Derek prays. “My omega,” he spits out. The man wrinkles his nose at that, inarguably disgusted. Derek is right there with him. At least the man puts his gun in its holster.

“I told you!” A plump little lady with fluffy red hair excitedly says as she exits their motel room. “You always see the worst in people!”

“He’s hardly a person,” The man grumbles under his breath. The wolf in Derek bristles at that.

The lady rolls her eyes. “Who’re you looking for exactly, sweety?” She asks him

“My omega,” he internally cringes as he says that again, his wolf on the other hand revels in it. “I wanted to surprise him. It’s our anniversary… we didn’t think we’d get to spend it together… but, well, here I am.”

“Here you are!” She excitedly exclaims. “What does he look like?”

Derek places the ring back in his pocket and holds his hand about shoulder level. “About yay high.” She blinks at him, clearly expecting more details. “Um, he’s… well, he’s got brown hair.” She continues her blinking owlish gaze, so he lets the wolf prowl forward a bit. “He’s radiant.” The man scowls at that. “Goofy smile. Quite animated at times. He has a few beauty marks on his face.”

“That sounds like Stiles,” the man begrudgingly tells him.

“Yes! That’s him,” Derek says. “Do you know what room he’s in?”

“28!” The lady chimes in, pointing across the way. “What a sweet boy you’ve got yourself. He gave me a chocolate muffin. It was wonderful.”

Derek’s face flushes. “Thanks,” he tells the lady. He grabs his bag off the ground and starts toward number 28. He glances over his shoulder at the man. “And thanks for not shooting me.”

“Maybe next time,” the man jokes with a lopsided grin, at least Derek thinks he’s joking. He hopes he is. He’s probably not.

“Good luck with the proposal! I hope he says yes!” the lady bellows across the parking lot. Derek flinches at that because, good lord, the whole world doesn’t need to think he’d actually do that. He waves another little thank you to her and hopes to high heavens she fucks right off.

Derek skulks up to Stiles’ door and peeks in through the window beside it. It’s a small room. Not much more than a bed with dresser at the end of it with an old boxy TV atop it. Across the room he can see the bathroom door ajar and a bit of steam billowing out.

Derek quickly peers around the parking lot, the lady gives him a big thumbs up before being tugged back into her room. Nobody else is about. He tries the door handle, fully expecting it to be locked. It turns easily and the door creaks open. Derek huffs. Oh, Stiles. What a moron.

Derek lets himself in and quietly clicks the door closed behind him. He can hear the shower going and Stiles’ heartbeat beyond the bathroom door. He sets his duffel by the TV and snoops a bit. Finds his wallet in a pile of Stiles’ clothes on the end of the bed. He slips it into his back pocket. He steps away from the bed, though finds himself right back at the end of it, the wolf in him lifting Stiles’ discarded shirt to his face and burying his nose in it. He rumbles in delight as he breathes in the omega’s delicate scent.

Derek tries not to think too hard about it when he slips the shirt into his own bag before making his way to the bathroom. In fact, he doesn’t think about it at all. Because if he thought about it, it would feel wrong and weird, and definitely a little more than creepy and perhaps a bit perverted, too. Also, why? _Why_ was he doing this? Is he that broken? So, yeah, he doesn’t think about it since he wants the shirt and he already has over a lifetime of guilt to contend with.

Derek slowly pushes open the bathroom door and takes a few steps inside. What he sees he never would have fathomed in his wildest dreams. In between the dated sink and mustard yellow tub is an old toilet, above it is small window that Stiles’ clearly tried to squeeze himself out of and evidently failed. Hanging there limply above the toilet is his legs and a hell of a view of his jean clad ass. He at least has two shoes on this time.

Derek shuts off the shower. Stares at the human a few moments more and eventually asks, “Are you dead?”

“Oh my god!” Stiles squawks, legs flailing. Derek attempts to grab one of the human’s ankles, yet the second he touches it those legs kick at him furiously, though ultimately futilely. “Don’t touch me!” he shrieks.

“Or you’ll what?”

“It wasn’t a threat, you jerk.” Stiles bleats, legs flailing away. “Just don’t touch me!”

Derek sighs, reaches forward and tightly grabs both ankles. “That’s the opposite of what I just said!” Stiles cries while attempting to kick his legs free. Derek easily holds them still as he pulls at them, trying to free the human.

Stiles shrieks likes he’s being slaughtered. “Stop! That hurts!”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Fuck off! The window frame digs into my ribs when you pull.”

Derek sighs again. “I’m going to come around.”

The wolf hurries out of the bathroom and bedroom, slamming the motel door and practically stomps his way behind the building. It’s a big field of dirt with what looks like a bunch of abandoned cars blotted here and there. Its great, in a shitty ‘what am he doing here?’ sort of way.

It’s easy to spot Stiles. He’s midway down the building and the only idiot Derek sees stuck hanging out of any of the tiny bathroom windows. He’s also wearing a hideous Gucci cardigan, and _only _a cardigan. It has snarling tigers on it and is wide open, the knitted fabric flopping on either of Stiles’ bare sides—the omega truly is shameless. Derek thinks he can safely assume who paid an undoubtedly exorbitant and ungodly amount on that cardigan.

Derek stands in front of the omega and crosses his arms. The omega shivers despite the heat. “I can _feel _you judging me,” Stiles says.

“How the hell did this happen?”

“Well, you see, I heard a commotion in the parking lot and saw the big dumb brute that tried to eat me! I thought it might be a good idea to escape.”

Derek scoffs. “I never tried to eat you.”

“You wanted to!” That’s a valid point, so Derek pointedly ignores it.

“Give me your hands,” Derek demands, holding his own out for the human to take.

Stiles’ eyes theatrically widen and he sticks his hands protectively in his armpits. “Why? So you can gnaw them off?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “So I can pull you out.”

“And then what?!” Derek hasn’t thought that far.

Derek steps forward, reaching for the human. “This is stupid. I’m getting you out.”

“I’d rather you not!” Stiles protests, swatting at Derek’s hands. “I actually feel safer physically attached to the motel, thanks.”

Derek doesn’t care what Stiles wants so he wrestles the humans flapping arms into submission and yanks at them. The human squeals like a stuck pig. “Oh my god!” Derek roars. “Scream again and I’ll rip your vocal cords out with my claws.” Stiles snaps his mouth firmly shut.

Derek places his hands over the fabric of Stiles’ underarms and tries pulling that way. The omega whimpers in pain which immediately halts Derek’s actions. “My hips are stuck on the other side,” Stiles tells him. “There’s no way they’re getting past the window frame.”

Derek angrily huffs, stepping away to kick over an orange plastic milk crate. He pulls out his phone and sits his ass down on the crate. “Who’re you calling?!” Stiles frantically questions.

Derek looks up from his phone and stares at the human. He doesn’t buckle under the wolf’s intense gaze. “911.”

“No!” Stiles exclaims.

The wolf blinks at the human. He doesn’t understand omega at all. “No?”

“No.” Stiles says firmly. “That would be so embarrassing.” The human can’t be serious.

“Are you braindead?” Derek queries.

Stiles’ eyebrows furrow. “Why don’t you just punch through the wall?”

Derek snorts at that. “Punch through the wall?”

“Yeah, punch through the wall. Smash me out all hulk style.”

Derek cocks his head and narrows his gaze, trying to figure the human out. It’s no use. “And if the wood splinters and stabs you in the guts, then what?”

Stiles frowns at that. “I do like my guts as is.”

“I’m calling 911.”

“Maybe try the non-emergency line first.”

Yet again, Derek looks up from his phone. Slightly above him, there Stiles hangs from the bathroom window practically half naked, yet seemingly unbothered by it all. “I’m pretty sure this constitutes as an emergency.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Well, I wasn’t asking.” Derek unlocks his phone and dials 911. He quickly tells the female operator the address and that there’s an omega stuck in a window. He can hear her hold the phone away as she laughs. He hangs up despite her telling him to stay on the line.

Derek stands up, brushes off his pants and asks, “Where are my car keys?”

Stiles narrows his gaze. “You’re leaving?”

“I came for my car. Not _you_.” Which is sort of the truth, but not really.

“They’re in my pocket.” Derek’s eyes search Stiles’ cardigan but he doesn’t see any pockets. “My pants pocket,” Stiles informs him with a stupid little grin on his face, eyebrows waggling. It gives the wolf butterflies in his belly.

Derek looks to sky and wonders why, just _why_? He trudges his way quickly around the building and back into the motel room. When he sees Stiles’ ass hanging there in the bathroom he hesitates for a moment, although it doesn’t take him too long to muster up the courage and decide to just go for it. He awkwardly reaches around to Stiles’ right front pocket, slipping his hand in.

“Other one!”

Derek rips his hand away. “Fucking hell,” he hisses before jamming his hand in the other and snatching up his keys. Then he gets the hell out of there.

He’s using his key fob to unlock his car door when the fire department shows up. There’s an awful lot of men on that truck. The wolf in him doesn’t like that. It slinks around his mind, huffing and puffing and full of untamed possessiveness. The wolf doesn’t want them touching. Doesn’t want them looking. Doesn’t want them near the omega at all. The wolf wants to bite and snarl and rip them to shreds for coming to the rescue, because how dare they? How fucking_ dare_ they?

Derek wars with himself but to no surprise the wolf in him wins. He chucks his duffel in the back seat of his car and jogs back behind the building. Stiles is obviously confused by the sight of him. Derek doesn’t care. He rushes up to the human as the firefighters unload from the truck.

The wolf grips the omega’s neck, the delicate little thing that is. Stiles flails, scrabbling at Derek’s hands. “Mention anything about the desert and I’ll eviscerate you and everyone you care about. Got it?” Derek threatens, eyes flashing red. Stiles fervently nods his head. “Good,” he says, lowering his hands and straightening the omega’s cardigan, making quick work of doing up the buttons. “And have some fucking decency, will you?”


	9. Chapter 9

The firetruck attracts attention, which attracts a crowd. Eventually the cops show up, too. Derek hates the cops. Derek hates most things, but Derek especially hates cops. To be fair, it’s a mutual dissatisfaction.

Derek lurks in the background and tries to stay unnoticed. Once the firefighters work on cutting Stiles out of the window Derek snaps a few pictures from afar, chooses the least blurry one and sends it to Peter. _'Still want me to give the bite to this idiot?’ _Derek texts.

Peter sends an emoji. It’s the one that’s of a laughing face with tears spouting out of the eyes. He adds, _‘I want you to do whatever your wolf tells you to do.’_ Well, currently, the wolf wants to roll in Stiles’ very essence, but that’s after it massacres the entire town for gawking at the human. Derek doesn’t find that very helpful at all.

A minute or two later Peter sends another text, this one has an address. _‘129 Woodbine Lane, Beacon Hills.’ _Derek feels queasy when he sees that it’s his hometown. _‘If you don’t bite him take him there.’_

Derek hesitates to ask, but the wolf forces him to. He has to know. _‘What do they want him for?’_

_‘Does it matter?’ _Peter texts back. It shouldn’t, but Derek isn’t so delusional to tell himself that it doesn’t. The omega, much to Derek’s chagrin, makes his wolf feel things, and not ever, not once, not even with Kate, has his wolf been this taken with someone.

Derek pockets his phone just as BPTV shows up. A blonde woman in a skin tight white dress and matching heels emerges from a silver van, a camera man and a few stragglers following behind. The pointy end of her heals keeps sinking into dirt as she makes her way closer to Stiles. She wears pink, almost purple, lipstick that does her no favors and mascara so thick it reminds Derek of spider legs.

It must be pretty boring around here if an omega getting stuck in a window in newsworthy. Nevertheless, Derek ponders intervening because there’s something dark and growly and full of ‘_he’s mine_’ in him that doesn’t like the thought of people, men, wolves, particularly other alphas watching Stiles on TV the way he is—vulnerable and the vast majority of his chest showing.

Derek tries to casually meander his way over to the reporter setting up, hands in his pants pockets, thumbs out. “What do you want?” she brusquely questions. Derek instantly dislikes her.

Derek’s hands slip from his pockets, claws extending and fangs dropping. “You should leave.”

The lady gasps, taking a wobbly step back. Derek can smell the metallic scent of her fear, the wolf revels in it. “Ignore him!” Stiles shouts from the window a few yards away, a couple firefighters working on getting him out. “He’s all bark and no bite, that one.” The reporter looks curiously between the two of them, but Stiles looks directly at him and winks. “You know how alphas are, so protective of their mates.”

Derek just about gags on the bile that suddenly scorches that back of his throat. The reporter grins excitedly, and ushers the camera man to hurry. “Oh, yes,” she says. “I totally understand.”

Derek’s eyes flare red, he can’t breathe. He can’t think. He just _can’t_. All circuits are offline. He kind of feels like he might faint, or maybe even die. Maybe this is what a heart attack feels like because that muscle in his chest is going a mile a minute and it fiercely aches. He feels dizzy, and honestly, he feels a little like he might even cry.

People are staring at him. So many, at least three dozen, and so is Stiles. Everyone is a blur but Stiles. Stiles with his stupid hair and even stupider face. And, oh look, he’s flipping Derek off with both hands while he throws his head back and laughs. He’s still dangling from that damn window, too. It’s ridiculous. The human is fucking ridiculous.

“This is Chelsey Finch reporting from the Bristlecone Manor Motel!” Derek vaguely hears the reporter say. The wolf wanders a little ways away. He’s in a daze as the firefighters pull the omega free. He’s not listening at all as the reporter starts to interview Stiles. Because he can’t.

He just can’t.

A mate is something sacred to wolves. A mate is so much more than a girlfriend or wife could ever be. A mate is your soul’s other half. A mate is someone who so profoundly completes you that your heart beats for them, you breathe for them, they consume you so utterly that you don’t know where one of you ends and the other begins. It’s love in its purest most unadulterated and unconditional form.

It honestly terrifies Derek. Mates are myth, though, there’s no such thing, thankfully. Hopefully? But there could be. There’s no such thing as aliens… _but there could be_.

Derek doesn’t think he wants to be consumed by anybody, especially not by Stiles… particularly not by Stiles. His wolf on the other hand is ready to be eaten whole by the omega. He doesn’t take that as a good sign. No, it’s a red alert, alarms blaring, get the fuck out of here, run and never look back sort of sign.

He has to go. He _needs_ to go. Derek takes one last look at Stiles, because he has to look. He _needs_ to look. The reporter is holding a microphone near the human’s mouth, he’s smiling while he talks animatedly. “All I wanted to do was sneak out and get my alpha a treat from Country Kitchen. He has a real sweet tooth, you know?” Their eyes meet, Stiles’ smile turns into a mischievous little thing as he presses his hands together in the shape of a heart.

Derek immediately feels the strong urge to vomit when the camera follows Stiles’ line of sight and pans to him. “And that must be him!” The reporter so aptly reports.

“The one and only!” Stiles cheerily says. “Come here, babe, don’t be shy.” Derek starts to back away, suddenly feeling the weight of dozens of eyes on him again. This is too much. He can hear them breathe, can hear the thumping of each heart and the slick slide of their eyes blinking, and they all think he’s super gay for the omega.

Firefighters are still milling around with the cops, they’re beady judgmental eyes wandering to him every now and again. Onlookers from town and those staying at the motel hang back behind a line of yellow tape, a mix of disgust and morbid curiosity on most of their faces. The motel owner is by the big hole in the wall. She’s the only one not paying attention. She’s on the phone with a contractor.

“Der bear,” Stiles croons, grabbing hold of Derek’s elbow. “Come on,” he says while pulling him toward the reporter. Derek roughly yanks his elbow free but that only makes Stiles latch his arms tightly around Derek’s waist instead. Stiles’ hair tickles his chin. The wolf deeply inhales the artificial fruity scent because, like Stiles, it has no shame whatsoever and it wants so fucking badly. Stiles doesn’t seem to notice, he just grabs Derek’s limp left arm and throws it over his shoulder, making them look extra cozy.

The reporter is on him like flies on shit, but he says nothing, because he can’t.

He just can’t.

Stiles takes it in stride. “He’s always been a wolf of few words. It’s part of his charm.”

When it finally seems like they’re going to wrap things up, a fluffy red head of hair makes an appearance in the corner of his vision. “Did you propose? Did your omega say yes?” she calls out from the front of the crowd. Derek immediately feels a severe urge to gut her and use her bits and pieces as Christmas ornaments.

“Lindsey, for Pete’s sake, mind your own business,” the gun toting man from earlier shushes.

It doesn’t stop her at all, not even a little. This time the question is aimed at Stiles. “Did you like the ring?”

Derek breaks away from Stiles because if there was ever a time to run, now would be the moment. Derek shoots the lady a look that he hopes adequately reads something along the lines of _fuck you, Lindsey_. Stiles catches him by wrist just before he bolts. He’s peering quizzically at Derek; the wolf can practically see the gears turning in the omega’s head. Unfortunately for Derek that face quickly becomes cunning.

Stiles lets go with an excited gasp, hands slapping to his cheeks in a look of total shock. “Oh my god! Are you serious?” he exclaims.

“See, you ruined it,” Derek hears Mr. Tough Guy rumble somewhere from within the crowd.

“No, I—” Derek starts, stepping away from the omega, because god no. Fuck this. Lord have mercy.

Stiles lurches forward, bunching the front of Derek’s shirt in his hands. “Yes!” He cries, actual tears forming in the corners of them. “Yes!” The wolf thinks he might have actually died earlier from that suspected heart attack and gone straight to hell. “Yes, Derek, yes I’ll marry you!”

“Give him the ring!” Lindsey calls out while the man, presumably her husband, is physically trying to drag her away from the scene.

The human shamelessly holds out his hand, ring finger on display as he looks ruthlessly at Derek. It truly is a testament to how absolutely abysmal Derek’s self-control is when the wolf bursts forward. Perhaps it was a psychotic break, that’s what Derek speculates. This is what he imagines happens when an alpha stays in the presence of an omega too long. They lose their damn minds.

So, with his claws, fangs, and mutton chops on full display, the wolf takes the ring from his pocket and reverently places it on the omegas finger, because unlike Derek, it wants everyone to know just who the human belongs to. It doesn’t matter that it’s a fake proposal, people will still believe. Believing is what matters.

Derek can hear the faint sound of clapping in the background as well as a chorus of boos. He’ll later worry about reporter lady and all the flashing cameras. He can’t concentrate right now because Stiles makes like an octopus and leaps at him—arms tightly around his neck and legs around his middle. All Derek can breathe is omega. All he can think is _Stiles_.

The human’s lips touch his pointy ear and he whispers, “You should have left when you had the chance.” Derek shivers while the wolf in him howls in delight. Stiles laughs joyfully and hugs him little tighter. 


	10. Chapter 10

Derek sits on a curb a few feet away from his car, his back to the motel. The crowd has faded and the town is back to being its quiet mysterious self. He hates his life. He hates literally everything about his life and he doesn’t have goddamn clue how to fix it.

Stiles is milling about, putting his things in Derek’s trunk while he munches on a Costco sized bag of Doritos. The owner kicked them out. Stiles vehemently debated that, considering all the publicity they just gave the motel and whatnot, but the owner stood firm. Derek think he could probably learn a lesson or two from her.

Stiles eventually plops down beside him. “So how is this going to work? Am I, like, your prisoner now?” If only things were that simple.

“No, Stiles,” Derek growls, eyes aglow. “You’re my _fiancé_,” Derek sneers, fangs on full display.

The omega rolls his eyes. “You wish.” Derek can’t acknowledge that because there’s an itty-bitty, teeny-weeny, minuscule, furry, and fiendish part of him that can’t disagree. And what does that say about him, huh? What does that say? Derek’s pretty sure he’s smack-dab in the middle of an identity crisis.

Derek looks to the omega, disgust written all over the wolf’s face, disgust mostly for himself. “Do you have any idea how this makes me look?!” he angrily roars. Derek is a deplorable alpha on a good day, but now? God, he can only imagine what other packs will say about him. He’s already heard it a thousand times. He was born from a fag, so why should he be any different? Fuck, all his adolescent life he’d wanted to be different. And look where that led him—right into the arms of Kate.

Stiles blinks at him, digs in his bag of Doritos and grabs a chip. He licks the orange dust right off of it because he’s a crude little thing with no sense of shame. “You’re an alpha,” Stiles nonchalantly says. “Why do you care what other people think?”

“I don’t,” Derek lies.

That makes Stiles snort. “Okay, big guy, if you say so.” He holds out the bag of Doritos to Derek. “Want a chip?”

“No, I don’t want a fucking chip!” Derek exasperatedly exclaims, snatching the bag out of the human’s hands and tossing it across the parking lot, Doritos flying everywhere. Derek has a strong childish urge to go stomp on them to be extra petty.

“Dude! I was eating those!”

Derek doesn’t care. At the moment he wants to scream, he wants to howl, he wants to dig his teeth and claws into alive things, rip them apart and make them dead. Mostly though, he just wants to crumble down to the ground, curl into the fetal position and cry because there is no fixing this. There is no fixing him. There is something irrevocably broken inside him.

He’s the alpha that was once so stupid, so naïve, so blinded by the desperate need to love a woman that it got his whole family killed. That’s unforgivable, it’s disgraceful. There’s simply no justifying it. Now he’s all that and a presumed omega fucker. No, worse, an omega lover. A _human_-omega lover. He’s never in all his life heard of a wolf marrying an omega, let alone a human one. It’s unheard of. It’s unconscionable. Yet the wolf wants what it wants.

Derek feels warm fingers on his cheeks, they smell like artificial cheese and the prettiest omega ever. It takes a moment to realize that Stiles is wiping away a few tears. Dear god, what sniveling pathetic thing has Derek become?

“Maybe they won’t air it,” Stiles tries to reassure him; Derek doesn’t understand why. It doesn’t matter… they’ll air it. Of course they’ll air it. They’d be insane not to.

Stiles sighs a sweet little thing and scooches a bit closer, he wraps his arms around one of Derek’s and leans into it. “It’s okay to be sad, or embarrassed, or whatever. It does my self-esteem absolutely no favors, but, uh, your feelings are valid.”

Derek furrows his brow and meets Stiles’ eyes. He tries to shake his arm free but the omega only tightens his grip. “What are you doing?”

“Acknowledging your feelings.”

“Please stop.”

There’s an earnest expression on Stiles’ face as he looks intently at Derek, so intently the wolf has to turn his eyes away. “This is all you fault.”

“Oh my god!” The wolf huffs, standing up and knocking the human roughly from his arm. “I thought you were going to say something nice.”

Stiles scrambles to his feet and follows after Derek. “_I’m _the victim here, not _you_! You kidnapped _me_, remember?” The wolf ignores him and keeps walking. “Where are you going?”

“Somewhere you aren’t,” Derek growls, feet pettily crunching over the wasted Doritos.

“That doesn’t make any sense. I could get away!”

Derek whips around, face menacingly near Stiles’ own. “You know what I think? I think you had over two days to get away. You could be half way across the country by now, yet here you are, in this shithole town, only a few hours away from where you left me. I think you wanted to be found.”

Stiles’ cheeks fade a stunning shade of pink as he takes a few steps back. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” _Liar_.

“Why don’t you do us both a favor and fuck off.” Derek wrenches his keys out of his pants pocket and throws them at Stiles. They smack him in the chest and drop to the ground with a jangle of metal on metal.

“Ow,” Stiles whines, hand rubbing where the keys hit him.

“You were supposed to catch them.”

“I realize that. A little warning would have been nice,” Stiles says as he picks the keys off the ground. “So, what? I’m free?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles quirks a brow. “And I can have the car?”

“Yeah,” Derek says. The omega needs it more than he does. He’ll be safer that way. Derek isn’t willing to think too hard on it.

“Is this some sort of test? I think it’s too soon for Stockholm syndrome to have set in.”

Derek rolls his eyes, trudging past the omega and grabbing his duffel bag from the back seat of the car. He throws it over his shoulder and heads for nowhere in particular, just the opposite direction of the omega.

“So that’s it?” Stiles calls after him. Derek just keeps walking. He doesn’t let himself look back because if he does he’s certain his whole body would follow.

A few moments later he hears his car rumble to life and head north up the 395. Deep inside him his wolf mournfully howls. Derek thinks there’s a very good chance he could end up regretting this. Derek regrets a lot of things, so he can just add this to the list.


	11. Chapter 11

It’s just after dark. Derek’s still in Big Pine and he’s sitting at a little diner in the middle of town. Save for a rowdy teen here and there, it’s pretty quiet. It’s mostly tourists coming and going fairly quickly. Nobody seems to want to stay in this town longer than they have to.

He sits near the back in a big booth all to himself. Parts of the dark green vinyl is torn and covered with tape, while fake wood paneling lines the walls. Despite the dated atmosphere, the kitchen surprisingly smells delicious, though the wolf has no appetite. He’s been staring at his coffee for the last hour while lost in thought.

To drown out the murmur of voices and the clanging and banging coming from the kitchen he’s got headphones in his ears. They’re plugged into his phone. Since his CDs are on the side of the road in the Mojave Desert, he’s started a YouTube playlist. It’s free and he’s a piece of shit that uses AdBlock, so it works well.

At first, he tries not to listen to sad music, or at least music that feeds the ache of melancholy inside him since Stiles wouldn’t approve. It’s inevitable that he does, though. Old habits die hard and all that.

Derek doesn’t know why, but his mind keeps returning to that pregnant omega on the bus. It was such a pretty thing, even round with life, or maybe because of it. He can’t think of another time he’s seen a pregnant omega. Then again, if something doesn’t directly affect him, he’s probably not paying any attention to it.

Seeing a man pregnant wasn’t as obscene as he’d imagined it to be, as the way his father had described. Derek’s always known impregnating Peter was a deep shame of his father’s, yet he never felt less love from the man for it. Although, sometimes he wonders if he hadn’t been born an alpha if things would have been different. He knows, in a lot of ways, his father favored him because of that little tidbit. Now he can’t help but wonder if he’d been born an omega would his father have left him in the woods to die like Peter’s father did?

He finds himself hovering on Peter’s message screen again. The wolf in him aches for Peter and all the injustices he’s faced. Because they were injustices, right? Derek isn’t entirely sure, but he thinks they might have been.

Derek types a thousand different messages to Peter and deletes them all, because what is he supposed to say? What can he say? What _should_ he say? In the end, he goes with a simple red heart emoji. He sends it before he can think better of it. Almost instantaneously he gets at least a dozen back. ‘_I love you too baby boy_.’ Peter texts.

_‘Don’t call me that.’ _Derek replies.

_‘You’ll always be my baby boy.’ _A second later Peter adds,_ ‘No matter what.’_ Derek has to put away his phone after that because he just can’t look at it anymore. He doesn’t want to think about Peter.

The funny thing about trying not to think about something is you typically just think about it all the more. Derek lets his eyes roam around the diner and his vision settles on a family—a mom and her two boys. One looks about 5, the other 8. The youngest one clings to his mom like a little leech. She runs her hands through his hair, fluffing it up. She even licks her finger at one point and uses it to get some dried ketchup off the boy’s cheek. The boy scrunches his face at that and wiggles away and to the other side of the booth where his brother sits quietly, diligently working on his homework with a bowl of strawberry ice cream by his books.

Derek’s eyes become blurry with unshed tears. He thinks had he been given the opportunity, had he been allowed, he’d have been a little leech, too. And that’s a hell of injustice, isn’t it? A boy needs his momma more than anything else in the world, but he was taught to hate his.

The tinkling of mini bells above the diner’s door has him looking away from the family and to the entry way. He’s dumbfounded when he sees that it’s Stiles that has walked in. The omega’s eyes roam over the patrons and when they finally land on him Stiles seems a little stunned too.

In a flurry of movement Stiles hurries over and just about throws himself into the booth across the table from Derek. He wriggles around until he’s comfortable and then he’s clasping his hands together on the table top. “Here me out,” Stiles starts.

Derek doesn’t. “How’d you find me?”

Stiles gives him a look. “I asked some lady if she’d seen a big dumb alpha with a perpetual scowl on his face. She pointed me in this direction.”

Derek sighs and looks to the ceiling. It’s those square tiles, he doesn’t know what they’re called. He’s seen them in movies countless times. You can apparently lift them up and crawl right in. Derek wonders if he should do that.

“Look, you need to tell me why you kidnapped me and then, _maybe_, I’ll forgive you.”

Derek scowls and then immediately tries to put his face back right. It’s no use, Stiles notices and gives him another a look. It’s an ‘I told you so’ sort of look. Derek bares his teeth at the omega. “I don’t give a shit about your forgiveness.”

Stiles holds out his left hand. “You put this,” he points to the ring on his finger, “on me for a reason.”

Derek immediately reaches out and grabs at Stiles’ wrist. The human manages to wrench it away. “Give that back,” he demands.

Stiles has the audacity to look offended. “No way. No take backs.” Stiles glances down at the ring on his finger, fiddling with it with his other hand. A moment later he looks back up at the wolf. “Why did you kidnap me? I know the other wolf was Peter.”

Derek furrows his brow curiously. “Why do you think that?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. It’s not like you’re some criminal mastermind. You gave me your _real_ name. I googled you.” Stiles pauses for a moment and gives him a pitying little gaze. Derek hates him for it. “My condolences by the way.”

Derek grits his teeth. “Peter brought you to me after he won you.”

Stiles immediately looks puzzled and equally pissed. “Won me? I’m not some fair prize.”

Now it’s Derek’s turn to look confused. “He said he won you in a poker game.”

Stiles eyes widen and he gives his head a shake. “What the hell? No! I think he’d been scoping me out for weeks, man. I’d just gotten to LA and was hard up on some cash. I planned on working a couple months to save up a few bucks before going somewhere else. One of my jobs was at a café. Peter was there almost every day, but he said his name was Aaron. We chatted a lot. He even talked a bunch about his nephew.” Stiles gave Derek a pointed look. “I think he was actually talking about his son.”

“Jesus Christ,” Derek breathes, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I had no idea.” Then again, Peter did say a lot of thought and effort went into his gift. Winning him a game of Poker would kind of negate that.

“He grabbed me on my last day. It was an evening shift and I was closing. I was waiting for an uber when he got me from behind. And, well, you know the rest.”

“I had no clue.” Well, he had a few if we’re being honest. He just ignored them, because sometimes with Peter, ignoring is better off than actually knowing.

Stiles keeps on fiddling with the ring on his finger, his eyes are intently on Derek, though. “You promise you weren’t in on it?”

“I swear,” Derek replies honestly.

Stiles nods, he seems to believe him because a smile breaks out on the omega’s face. It makes the wolf a bit breathless. “So, you really did come to my rescue?” _Oh_, Derek thinks, _oh no_. Derek is a great many things in this situation but he is not the hero… _but he could be_.

Derek meets Stiles’ gaze and it’s like they’re in the car all over again. Stiles is looking at him with all the curiosity in the world and maybe a bit like Derek hung the moon. It feels good. It feels really good. But Derek should tell him, right? Derek should tell him he didn’t hang the moon; he’s just a wolf who likes to howl at it.

“In a sense,” Derek hesitantly says.

Stiles’ smile turns into a wide toothy grin, eyes twinkling in the low light. The wolf wants to taste that smile. “I forgive you,” Stiles resolutely tells him, giving him a curt nod before changing the subject entirely. “I’m famished. Where are the menus?”


	12. Chapter 12

When Stiles saunters away in search of a couple menus the wolf feasts his eyes on the omega. Stiles is wearing a pair of jean joggers and a white pair of expensive looking sneakers; which Derek is almost certain he paid for. He’s also still wearing that unsightly Gucci cardigan with nothing underneath—the V of it going just below the omega’s bare sternum. He looks astoundingly obnoxious, but he also looks undeniably edible, too.

Derek can’t help but check out Stiles’ ass as he leans over the front counter while talking to a waitress. She’s showing him something. Derek can’t be bothered to figure out what, because _that_ _ass_. Derek has never been an ass man. He’s more of a wallow in self-pity and stew in his own misery sort of man, which ultimately has him ignoring the fact that he’s alpha werewolf in what should be his sexual prime.

Derek will every once in awhile get niggling bits of arousal when he sees a woman that suits his fancy. It never stays, it never lasts, and it certainly doesn’t happen more than once with the same person. He’s even gotten a few fumbling blowjobs in dark places in particularly bad times in his life. Long story short, shoving his dick down a stranger’s throat doesn’t make his shitty life any less shitty. It actually kind of makes it worse.

Stiles, though, Stiles is different. When Derek looks at the Omega, when he sees all that creamy white skin with beauty marks and lean muscle… when he sees that goofy smile and hears all those idiotic words that flow between those pretty lips… God, it’s not a niggling bit of arousal that happens, it’s a mountainous tidal wave that washes over him, and it lasts. It’s stays, and it’s over and over and over and he truly doesn’t know what to do with it all.

He knows better than to act on it, at least. He was taught better than that. His father warned him. _“The worst thing about an omega is that its smart. Don’t let the movies fool you, son. They’re not simpering little creatures wanting to please. They’re wickedly cunning and dangerously seductive. If they notice you, if they want you, they’ll observe and they’ll learn. They’ll say all the right things, touch you in all the right ways, and before you know it, you’ll be hooked and thinking you can’t live without them.”_

“Dude!” Stiles excitedly says, slapping the menus down on the table, startling the wolf, and leaning into Derek’s personal space. “Jackpot! They’ve got booze here. We’re getting white girl wasted!”

Derek has no clue what that even means. “What?”

Stiles slides into the booth, happy as a clam. “They’ve got wolfsbane liquor! Let’s get trashed.”

Derek frowns at that. His self-control is already compromised around the omega, clearly. The last thing he needs to do is add booze to the mix… unless that’s what the omega is counting on. He narrows his gaze and looks distrustfully at Stiles. “That’s a horrible idea.”

Stiles seems disappointed and perhaps even a little concerned. “You sure? I thought it might help ease the trauma of this afternoon,” he says as he slides into the booth. He nods towards the front end, a row of bar seats along the counter. Behind the counter is a couple old TVs, they’re muted with the closed-captioning on. The second he sees what’s displayed he wants the world to swallow him whole. There he is, plastered over each dusty screen and all in varying poses with Stiles.

“God kill me,” he breathes. He ducks his head and hides his face in his palms because he feels agonizingly mortified. The last thing he wants is for people to recognize him.

“Shots for the happy couple!” a waitress chimes as she bustles over.

Derek pitifully groans, unable to enjoy the irony of the moment. He can’t even look at her as she clunks a bunch of glasses onto the table. Once she’s gone, he peeks through his fingers to see Stiles looking more than a little amused as he sucks some red, fruity monstrosity through a straw.

“It’s a strawberry daiquiri,” Stiles says while pushing it toward the wolf. “Wanna try?”

“No,” Derek tersely states, grabbing the shot closest to him. At this point, he may as well. What has he got to lose if everything and his dignity is already missing?

They’ve got three shots each. Apparently, Stiles is quite determined to get them drunk. Derek’s drinks are a muddy greenish color, presumably from the wolfsbane. Stiles giddily grabs his own shot and they down them together. Stiles adorably scrunches his face and hisses from the burn of the alcohol. He laughs beautifully when the burn subsides and quickly hands Derek another. They throw them back.

Derek thinks _fuck_ _it_, and shoves the third in front of Stiles. “Hell yes!” Stiles exclaims, eagerly snatching it up and holding it out. Derek clinks his drink against Stiles’ glass and they gulp them down in a single swallow.

Stiles wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his cardigan and chucks a menu at the wolf. “Let’s order before I forget how to read.”

By the time food arrives they’re both well and truly and quite sufficiently drunk, but not sloppily so, not yet at least. Derek feels fuzzily warm to his core and woozy in a good way. Peter has also called 4 times and texted 6. Despite his inebriated state, he doesn’t quite have the courage, liquid or otherwise, to see what Peter has to say. He knows it’s about what’s on TV and that’s the last thing he wants to talk about since he’s currently trying to drink himself into such a stupor that he completely obliterates any and all memory of it.

His phone rings another time just as he’s about to take a bite of pasta—he’s also got a burger with all the fixings—extra cheese of course—and a mountain of sweet potato fries with a cup full of chipotle sauce for dipping.

Stiles quirks a brow. “Think you should get that?”

Derek shakes his head after taking a gulp of infused beer. “Nah, fuck Peter,” he says, turning off his phone and dropping it to his duffel bag that’s by his feet. Kidnapping son of a bitch.

Stiles shrugs and goes for his own burger. Derek’s eyes widen and he reaches across the table and grabs the red plastic basket that the food is placed in. He pulls it away from the omega. “Don’t be rude. You have to wait,” Derek tells him.

Stiles looks around the diner, taking a sip of his second daiquiri. “Wait for what?”

“Alphas eat meals first.”

Stiles sets his drink aside and glares at the wolf. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’s tradition.” Derek says, attempting to drag the human’s dish further away—Stiles latches on.

Stiles looks personally affronted with his furrowed brow and frowny bottom lip. He tugs on the basket. “Tradition for who? Assholes?”

Derek glowers at that and flares his eyes. He tries to yank the basket away from the omega. Stiles isn’t having it and yanks right back. “Let go,” the wolf snarls. He puts all his werewolf strength into tearing it away from Stiles just as the human narrows his drunken gaze and does exactly as he’s told. Stiles cackles madly as the food goes flying all over the front of Derek’s hunter green shirt, tumbling sloppily to his lap.

“Stiles!” Derek roars, swatting the food from his pants with the back of his hand, which only serves to make an even bigger mess of it.

“You deserved that,” Stiles remarks through stifled laughter. He grabs his drink and sticks the straw in his mouth, looking innocent as can be.

There’s ketchup, mustard, bits of relish, and grease stains all over Derek’s shirt. It’s a lost cause and his pants aren’t much better. He grabs the shitty paper napkin that’s under his knife and spoon and does the best he can with what he’s got.

When he eventually gives up and tosses the napkin to the table with a huff, he glances up and accidentally meets the omega’s eyes. Stiles has the daiquiri glass up near his chin, he’s holding the straw in his mouth with his left hand, fingers nearly touching his lips. Derek can’t help but notice the way the engagement ring glints on Stiles’ finger. It fits perfectly, obviously a bit too feminine for a male, but the omega wears it well. The wolf in him rumbles with approval.

A little smile begins to tilt the corners of Stiles’ mouth. The human’s gaze shamelessly moves from Derek’s eyes, to the wolf’s chest, to his biceps, and back to his eyes. “You’re stupidly handsome,” Stiles says, and oh, wow, Derek just learned he’s not immune to flattery.

With heated cheeks, Derek finds himself haphazardly cutting his burger in half and pushing his own basket of food forward along with his pasta. “We can share.”

Stiles gives him a sweet smile as he steals a fry and turns his head ever so slightly to the right, baring his throat in attempt to appeal to Derek’s wolf—whether it was instinct or Stiles did it on purpose Derek can’t be certain. “You’re the best. Thank you, alpha.”

It’s in that very moment that Derek thinks he dies, like all the way dead. RIP, Derek Hale. He’s certain his heart skips a beat or thirty and he thinks he might have even blacked out. He doesn’t know how long it takes, minutes, hours, years, or mere moments, but everything comes rapidly rushing back. The diner, the smells of food and booze and old ladies’ perfume. He sees Stiles; perfect, beautiful, enchanting as hell, and nothing but trouble, Stiles. And he wants, it’s not just the wolf that feels it. Derek wants so fucking badly it hurts.

Stiles, completely oblivious to Derek’s inner turmoil, turns his attention to the food in front of him. He digs into the pasta and grabs the dessert menu that’s propped near the salt and pepper shaker. Half the bite falls off the fork midway to the omega’s mouth, Stiles doesn’t seem to notice or care. He flips through the dessert menu, licking sauce from his lips. “What should we get, pie or cake?”

“Whatever you want,” Derek tersely replies.

Stiles nibbles at his bottom lip and looks up at him from the menu. “What if I want both?” At this point Derek would buy him the whole damn diner if he asked. “With ice cream on the side… and a hot fudge brownie… and maybe a milkshake. They have four different kinds of pie, so, like, maybe I should try them all, you know?

“Anything you want,” Derek says.

Stiles snorts at that. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Anything,” Derek repeats.

A childish little grin spreads over Stiles’ face. “I want a million bucks,” he jests.

The wolf’s gaze flares red. “I have a lot more than that.”

Stiles’ eyes comically widen and his jaw drops. He leans forward and hisses, “You can’t just tell people that. Someone could take advantage.”

“I told you, not people.”

Stiles fervently nods, looking a bit frantic. “Yeah, and I’m the guy that stole your credit cards.” He makes a good point. “You’re drunk,” Stiles playfully scolds. Derek shrugs. He most certainly is.

Stiles grabs his half of the burger and shoves the other half towards Derek. “Eat.”

The wolf does as he’s told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'd like some input on some ideas for this story if you're willing. I have a few different directions in mind. 
> 
> 1\. How do you feel about mpreg in this story? (I'm leaning towards this happening)
> 
> 2\. Do we want Stiles to stay human? (I'm like 90% certain I'm keeping him human since that's what show Stiles (from my understanding) would want)
> 
> 3\. What in general would you like to see? I'm working on chapter 15/16 (I like to stay a few ahead) and i'm having a bit of writers block, so I would LOVE some ideas thrown at me to see if it helps inspire, and who knows, maybe I'll be able to incorporate some of them :)
> 
> Thank you guys soooo much. I really appreciate all the feedback you guys have been giving me so far. It makes writing worth it knowing people are enjoying it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for all the wonderful comments and letting me know what you thought about what should happen. It's helped me direct the story better. Stiles is forever human and there will definitely be mpreg!
> 
> THANK YOU! You guys make writing worth it!!!!

Derek and Stiles stumble out of the diner just after closing, which Derek suspects is just a pub undercover. At Derek’s insistence they had a few more drinks before leaving. He wants to forget everything, not just this afternoon, _everything_. Stiles helps with that. Helps with his sunshine smile, stupid words, and pretty everything. The omega dazzles and dazes him in the most curious ways. Oh, and is Derek ever curious.

Out in the gravel parking lot they stand shoulder to shoulder as they stare at Derek’s car. Derek makes a face at the vehicle, he’s about a billion percent certain he shouldn’t drive. The wolf is loose limbed and wobbly on his feet. It’s a far cry from how he normally feels hyper aware and in control of his body.

Stiles seems to have no trouble interpreting the furrowed brow, sullen but also puzzled expression on Derek’s face. “Me neither. I’m drunk, Derek. Like a lot drunk.” The omega gently grasps the wolf’s elbow and looks at him, eyes a bit glassy but no less sincere. “So drunk. Drunk with a capital ‘D’.”

“I’m a bit buzzed,” Derek lies. He’s sloshed.

Stiles shakes Derek’s arm a little. “I think there’s another motel down the road, but don’t, like, quote me on it, or take my word for it. You know the saying.”

“We could sleep in the car,” Derek suggests.

Stiles pouts. “What if I need to pee?” Derek points to bush at the end of the lot. Stiles gasps and looks downright scandalized. “I think…” Stiles starts, words a little slurred. “I think you should use some of your millions of dollars and hail us a private jet to fly us out of here. I’ll even settle for helicopter if I must.”

Derek nods along because that certainly seems reasonable. “I don’t have those kinds of connections.”

“What a shame,” Stiles sighs. He clings a bit tighter to Derek’s arm and pulls him toward the road. He looks left and right, squints his eyes, and says, “Use your wolfy senses. Which way is a motel, ‘cause I have no idea.”

Derek scowls at that. “I’m not psychic.”

Stiles gazes up at him curiously. “Can’t you sniff one out?”

“No, but I know how to google shit.”

“That,” Stiles says excitedly, pulling a shiny new iPhone from the front pocket of his pants. Derek wonders how much it cost since he’s likely footing the bill, “Is a brilliant idea!” Stiles looks to his phone, the home screen lighting his face and making him look eerily pale. “Hey Siri, where’s the nearest motel… _motel_… no, MO-TEL.”

Derek rolls his eyes and uses the long strap on his duffel bag to hang it over left shoulder and across his sternum, he catches it on his face twice. “Give it to me.”

Stiles shakes his head. “It’s fine. I got it.” Derek tries to snatch the phone anyway. “I said I got it!” Stiles exclaims, turning his back to the wolf. “_MO_-_TEL_!”

“Just give it here.” Derek pulls at the omega’s arm, wrenching him back—Stiles flailing around like a ragdoll—and going for the phone once more.

“Ow, be gentle!” Stiles snaps, cross expression on his face as he slaps Derek’s hands away. “I’m delicate.”

“Then do what I say and give me the damn phone,” Derek demands, holding his hand out.

Stiles high fives Derek’s hand and smugly tells him, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m the alpha,” the wolf growls, eyes flaring red. “You’re the omega.”

Stiles snorts at that. “Which means I’m the brain and you’re the brawn. You need me more than I need you.”

Derek can’t come up with a counter argument, so instead goes straight for threatening instead. “I could just take it from you.”

Stiles smirks and glances up from the phone. “I’d like to see you try.” _Challenge accepted._

Despite just putting his bag on, Derek yanks the strap over his head, tosses it to the ground, and lunges at the human. On impact Stiles’ phone goes flying, clattering along the side of the road. They topple to the ground all limbs and curse words. Derek is on Stiles’ back while Stiles attempts to army crawl towards the phone. Derek grabs Stiles’ cardigan and hauls him backwards across the filthy ground, the human shrieking along the way.

Derek stumbles past Stiles and over to the phone, picks it up—a moment of triumph—only to then feel through his jeans blunt human teeth sinking into Achilles tendon. “Stiles!” Derek roars, roughly trying to shake his leg free from the omega’s evil clutch. In the process his other leg gets a fist to the back of his knee, causing it to buckle and for him to drop.

Stiles tackles the wolf’s back howling with laughter along the way. He reaches around Derek, one arm putting him into a headlock, yanking his chin up, and another pressing a blade to his neck. “You’re dead,” Stiles cheerily states.

“Holy shit,” Derek breathes, astonished. He can feel the omega’s heart pound against his back and Stiles’ hot breath fluttering against his ear, the chill of the metal against his jugular... Somehow, the wolf in him finds all this rather erotic. “Where’d the knife come from?”

Stiles slides the weapon away and laughs as he rolls to the ground, his back in the dirt. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” By the time Derek is turned around and looking at the omega the knife is back to being hidden.

Stiles reaches out and pokes Derek’s knee, a glorious little smile on his face and eyes shining joyfully in the moonlight. “Anyone ever tell you how much fun you are?” _Literally_ _never_, Derek thinks. “You’re the best.” That’s the second time tonight Stiles has told him that.

Derek’s solemn expression softens the tiniest bit. “You’re adequate enough.”

Stiles chuckles at that and gives Derek’s knee a gentle squeeze, he doesn’t remove his hand after. “I’m glad I met you,” he says. Derek would never admit it, but he’s also kind of glad that he didn’t leave Stiles to become a shriveled human husk in the desert. Stiles has very lovely eyes and it would have been a shame if vultures had pecked them out and eaten them for lunch.

Derek’s hand momentarily hovers over Stiles’ own and he thinks what if? What if he touched the omega with affection? Would the world implode? Would God instantly smite him? Would the four horsemen of apocalypse be summoned?

It doesn’t matter because the human keeps talking. “Is it weird that I’m actually kind of thankful your psycho mother kidnapped me?”

Derek’s face becomes pinched. He brushes Stiles hand from his knee and climbs to his feet. He throws the phone at Stiles, not even having bothered looking at it. It lands on the omega’s stomach with a hollow sounding thunk. “Peter isn’t psycho.”

With a huff, Stiles gets to his own feet, looking a bit bambi-ish for it. He slips his phone into his pants pocket. “Well, he isn’t right in the head. You can’t deny that.” Technically Derek shouldn’t deny that, but he can and he will.

“Where’s a motel?” Derek asks, changing the subject.

Stiles shuffles along, clothes filthy—Derek doesn’t appear much better with dust and Stiles’ dinner all over him. Stiles looks left, then right, then nods his head to the right. “Motel is that way.”

As it turns out the only motel that way is the Bristlecone Manor Motel, so they retrace their steps and walk an extra ten minutes in the opposite direction.

“This place looks sketchy,” Stiles says, standing under a neon orange vacancy sign. “It reminds me of murder and prostitutes.”

Derek ignores the human and shoves him forward and toward the small lobby. This place is larger, yet older than the Bristlecone and comes complete with a half empty pool full of green sludge. “Ooh, a vending machine. That’s cool,” Stiles observes, it’s by the main entrance and it’s got chips. He cringes when he sees that ‘_lycanthropy is a plague_’ is scrawled across the clear glass front.

There’s a bored looking pockmarked teenage boy sitting at the front desk, keys for each room dangling on hooks behind him. “Two rooms,” Derek tersely states.

“What? No!” Stiles interjects. “One room.” Stiles holds out his left hand to the boy, ring glinting in the crappy yellow light. “We’re engaged.” Derek whips his head to side, glaring daggers at the omega.

The teenager blinks at them. “One bed or two?”

“Two!” Derek snarls, eyes flaring.

Stiles chuckles as he flops into Derek’s side, squeezing him around the middle. “Mr. Traditional over here.”

“We only have rooms with one bed available,” The boy tells them.

Derek grits his teeth. “Then why’d you ask?”

Stiles swats his arm. “Don’t be rude.”

The boy blankly stares at Derek. “Will you be paying with cash, cheque, or credit?”

In all honesty, it could be worse, Derek thinks as he looks around their room. “You know I’m susceptible to disease, right?” Stiles remarks, nose wrinkled. Evidently the human doesn’t agree with him.

Derek pulls up the fitted sheet on the bed and checks the mattress for signs of bedbugs, because even big bad alpha werewolves are afraid of those. No amount of brute strength and glowing eyes can get rid of those bastards once you’ve got them. “No bed bugs at least,” he says.

Stiles blinks at him. “Is that your minimum requirement for a motel, no bed bugs?”

Derek scoffs at that. “Have you had bedbugs before? They’re no joke.”

Stiles quirks an eyebrow. “Have you?”

“No, but I can google shit, remember? I take precautions.”

Stiles smiles and laughs a beautiful little sound. “You’re adorable.”

“And you’re a pain in my ass,” Derek immediately retorts, not allowing himself to think too hard about what Stiles just said. Alphas aren’t adorable, it’s impossible. But, you know, it might be okay if Stiles thought he was. He’d get over it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwww yes! Finally getting to some fluffy parts :) 
> 
> ENJOY!

As Derek lays in bed, eyes closed, world feeling like its spinning, listening to Stiles sing awfully in the shower, he wonders if in fact Stiles is not an omega, but a demon instead. Perhaps he’s an incubus slowly seducing him just to suck the life force right out of him. That would be tragic, yet not completely surprising considering Derek’s previous life events.

“Hey, Derek!” Stiles calls from the shower. “I didn’t think to grab some clothes from the car. You got anything I can wear?” Yes, definitely a demon.

Derek opens his eyes, and sits up on the bed, booger green throw blanket wrinkling beneath him. He glares at the bathroom door and wonders if he’s being played, or used, or a series of other nefarious things, but to what end? For his money? Stiles does like spending it. That wasn’t entirely unjustified, though. Stupid, sure. Illegal, definitely. Then again, Derek can’t help but find the illegality of it attractive. The omega is a rebel. The omega doesn’t care what anybody thinks.

Through the flimsy bathroom door, Derek hears the tap squeak and the water shuts off. “Derek!” Stiles shouts. Derek flops back on the bed and ignores him—that seems like the safe thing to do. The throw is itchy on his bare back, lower half in a pair of grey sweats.

The bathroom door creaks open and Stiles sticks his soggy head out. “Dude, you’re a werewolf. I know you can hear me.”

“Then you also know I’m ignoring you.”

Stiles grins at him. “Yes, but I’m nothing if not persistent.” Derek hates that he likes that about him.

The wolf sighs and points to the square table to the right of the bed. It’s under a window, two wooden chairs on either side of it and the door to outside to the left.

Derek doesn’t know what he was expecting when he pointed to his bag on the table but it wasn’t that the omega would scurry out of the bathroom, towel slung indecently low around his waist, and start digging through his stuff.

“Aw, penguins!” Stiles chimes, holding up a pair of Derek’s boxers.

“Stiles!” Derek snarls, lunging from the bed and yanking his underwear out of the human’s hands. He snatches the bag away and shoves his boxers to the bottom of it. “What’s wrong with you?” he angrily mutters.

Stiles looks over at him, a sweet little expression on his damp face while beads of water roll deliciously down his neck. “You’re so easy to rile up. How can I not?”

Derek tries his best to keep his eyes off the omega since only madness lies that way. “You could try being decent,” Derek says while rifling through the bag. He pulls out a dark grey, nearly black, t-shirt and shoves it into Stiles hands. Their eyes meet and Stiles’ gaze is fire.

“You don’t really want me to be decent, do you?” Derek quite nearly chokes on the spit in his mouth and he blindly pulls out a pair of checkered pajama pants. Stiles reaches for them, or at least that’s what Derek thought he was doing. Instead a clammy hand tugs the pants from his grip, tossing the pants and the t-shirt to the bed, and then presses itself into the wolf’s grip. Stiles curls his hand around Derek’s, his second hand coming over to trace along the top of the wolf’s, pads of fingers following the pathways of veins beneath the skin.

Derek swallows uncomfortably and tries desperately to point his eyes anywhere but at Stiles. It’s a fruitless endeavor because the wolf wants, so the wolf looks and Derek is stuck going along for the ride. Although, at this point, he really doesn’t mind all that much.

Derek can tell Stiles scrubbed a towel over his hair by the way it sticks out everywhere, but it’s the pink pebbled nipples that make his mouth water. It’s the beauty marks dotted alluringly over the omega’s torso that make him want to touch. It’s the fine, silky bits of hair underneath the omega’s navel travelling south that stirs something in his belly. Something that rushes lower and lower, all heat and need over his groin.

Stiles’ hands slip from Derek’s as he steps closer and folds himself into Derek’s front. Stiles’ cheek presses against his bare chest, the top of his head just below Derek’s chin. The human wraps his arms around Derek’s waist, hands clasping where they meet. Derek squeezes his eyes closed, diligently attempting to pay absolutely no attention to the feeling of skin on skin and the omega’s warmth bleeding into him.

Derek doesn’t really know what to do with himself. His arms are hanging awkwardly by his sides and before he can think better of it, he finds himself lifting them and gently wrapping Stiles into a snug embrace. The omega softly sighs, his eyelashes fluttering closed and his fingers splaying over Derek’s back.

They stand like that for a long time. Eventually, and unsurprisingly, Derek gives in and lets himself feel. He finds that he likes the funny feeling of Stiles fingers twitching against his back, unable to stay still. He likes hearing Stiles’ bunny rabbit heart beating near his own and the tickle of the omega’s breath over his pecks.

Stiles’ skin is softer than his own, it feels almost paper thin and just as delicate. Slowly, ever so slowly, he explores the ridges and plains of Stiles’ back. He enjoys touching the slight ripple of Stiles’ ribs and the edges of his shoulder blades. He can’t help but trace his fingers up and down the valley of the omega’s spine, the pads of his fingers going bump-bump-bump over each hidden vertebra.

Derek marvels at the beauty of it all. He’s never met someone so captivating before. He doesn’t know what to make of it or what it means. He’s sure it means something, but at the same time he really doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to think about anything. He just wants to be. For once in his life he just wants to enjoy the moment.

It doesn’t last, though. The good things never do. The wolf smells the faint salty-bitter scent of tears just before Stiles pulls away. “Sorry,” the human says, sniffling, waving Derek away as he turns his back to him. “Sorry,” Stiles meekly repeats, rubbing at his eyes. “God, I feel like an idiot. I think I’m still drunk.”

“What’s wrong?” Derek questions.

Stiles shrugs, grabbing the pants at the end of the bed. He bends, stepping into them and pulls them up. Once past his knees the towel rides up with them until its bunched around his middle. It comes loose and falls to the floor. Stiles leaves it there.

The pants are huge on Stiles. He tugs at the draw string and ties a bow. Derek thinks the omega might be ignoring him. “You can tell me,” Derek says.

Stiles gazes up at him, eyes watery and frown forlorn. “It’s stupid.”

Derek lifts the shirt from the bed and hands it over. Stiles throws it on. It looks just as ridiculous as the pants. The hem reaches halfway to his knees and the short sleeves fall just past his elbows. The wolf in him rumbles with pleasure, because as ridiculous as Stiles looks, he’s blanketed in his scent and still the prettiest thing the wolf ever did see.

Stiles sits on the edge of the bed, arms hugged protectively around his middle. Derek takes a seat beside him. “Stiles,” Derek starts before he can talk himself out of it. “I cried for a good half hour listening to Evanescence while driving around the desert looking for you. It was the trees that put me in a bad mood. That’s stupid.”

Stiles snorts at that. “That’s more pathetic than stupid.” Derek would be hurt by that if the omega wasn’t looking at him so fondly with a bemused smile on his perfect lips. He grabs at Derek’s hand and yanks him up the bed. He throws down the covers and scooches under them. The wolf follows suit even if Derek thinks this is a mighty bad idea.

Stiles rolls to his side, head on a shockingly fluffy pillow. Derek does the same and faces the omega as said omega pulls up the covers to just under their chins. Under the covers Stiles wriggles all around to get comfortable, and tangles his legs with Derek’s and holds firmly to one of his hands. Derek is pretty sure they’re cuddling and he doesn’t know what to do with that thought, so he shoves it out of his mind and lets his wolf stare adoringly at the human.

“When you hugged me back… it felt good,” Stiles tells him. “Kinda like a relief, you know? I haven’t been touched like that in forever. I’d forgotten just how badly I missed it.”

Derek gives Stiles’ hand a gentle squeeze. “That’s not stupid.”

“No, maybe not to you, because you, you get it, right?” Derek nods. He really really gets it. “Yeah, we’re kindred spirits you and I.” Derek wouldn’t go as far as to say _that_. “Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it really that awful having people think you love me?” Derek doesn’t know what he was expecting the human to ask, but it certainly wasn't that.

Derek figures honesty is the best policy, though tries not to be cruel about it. Stiles doesn’t deserve cruel. “It’s not ideal.”

The omega nods at that. “But at the Bristlecone, that couple thought we were together. They thought you were going to propose.”

“I said whatever I had to say so they’d tell me what room you were in,” Derek admits, and it genuinely hurts his heart to see Stiles look absolutely devastated by it.

“My shirt is in your bag. Why?” Stiles curtly asks. Derek’s cheeks immediately feel hotter than the rest of his body. He’d forgotten that was in there. He tries to pull his hand away but Stiles doesn’t let him. “_Why_? Be honest.”

Derek panics. “I’m not gay.”

“Me neither, not technically. I’m not attracted to women. I can’t even procreate with one.” Stiles gives him a look; Derek can’t discern it. He doesn’t even know if he wants to. “I could with you.” And this here is the moment Derek died for the second time tonight. RIP, Derek Hale. It was nice knowing ya.

_“Stiles,”_ Derek angrily hisses, “you can’t say shit like that.” Because now he’s thinking about it, and isn’t it a hell of thought? Could you imagine? Derek can, and it does things to him. It makes his wolf want in the most animalistic ways.

The omega doesn’t look sorry at all. “Why do you have my shirt in your bag?”

Derek says nothing. He can’t.

Stiles furrows his brow questioningly. “Were you going to masturbate with it?”

Derek’s eyes dramatically widen and he jerks his hand back, getting away this time. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“That wasn’t a no.”

Derek glares furiously at the omega. “No, Stiles, I was not going to masturbate with it.”

“Then what were you going to do with it?” Derek doesn’t know. Look at it. Smell it. Wolf out and roll in it, maybe. He can’t say that last part, though. That would make him look weird.

Derek sighs. “I like the way you smell,” he confesses.

Something in Stiles’ hardened gaze softens. “Really?”

“Yes,” Derek begrudgingly states.

“You took my shirt because you like the way I smell?” Stiles gives a him a goofy grin, cheeks pinkening. He’s a sight to behold, really. “That is _so_ sweet.” It’s not, Derek thinks. He’s pretty sure it’s a bit creepy actually.

The human pokes at his bicep. “Would you ever, you know, consider a relationship with an omega… a human one?” So subtle Stiles. “A sexual relationship… just in case I wasn’t clear.”

Derek lets out a rumbly growl as he rolls onto his back. He stares at the ceiling, it has some water stains on it and something that looks an awful lot like blood splatter.

“Not, like, a purely sexual relationship," Stiles continues. "Would you marry me?” Out of the corner of his eye he can see the human cringe at that. “Not right this minute, or soon, or ever! I just mean would you consider it? Would you marry an omega?”

Derek closes his eyes, fully intent on going to bed and never thinking about this moment ever again. “Shut up, Stiles.”

“Are you going to sleep?”

“No,” Derek huffs. “I just like pretending I’m blind.”

The wolf listens as Stiles shuffles around, turning off the light on nightstand before sidling up to Derek. “Do you wanna be the big or the little spoon?”

Derek says nothing, just rolls to his side, his back facing the omega. Stiles takes the hint and presses up against Derek’s back, arm reaching around his middle. Derek doesn’t think as he laces his fingers with Stiles’. Just this once he’ll allow himself this luxury since, sometimes, even big bad alpha werewolves need a cuddle. And you know what? Stiles is right, it feels a lot like relief.


	15. Chapter 15

Derek wakes in the middle of the night. It’s dark but he can see just fine. Stiles is still plastered to his back, face pressed to the back of his neck. The wolf carefully breaks free and rolls over to face the human. Stiles is young, but he looks even younger when he’s asleep. His cheeks are flushed pink, pretty lashes kissing the tops of them. His full lips are slightly parted, breaths coming out in little puffs and his hair all array.

Stiles is so profoundly beautiful that Derek’s heart aches at the sight of him. The wolf reaches out through the dark, his index and middle finger delicately combing through the omega’s hair. It’s softer than he was expecting, and a tiny, barely there smile creeps onto Derek’s face as the strands tickle the back of his knuckles. He makes his way to the omega’s temple, gently dragging his fingers over the curve of his cheek.

Stiles snuffles, eyes blearily blinking open. He flops to his back and makes grabby hands at the wolf. Derek leans in, letting Stiles pull him closer. Stiles directs Derek’s head to his chest. Derek can’t stop himself—doesn’t want to—from cuddling up against him, ear pressed to the human’s sternum as warm fingers massage their way along his scalp. It peacefully lulls him and he falls back asleep to the steady buh-bump of Stiles’ heart.

Derek sleeps like the dead and wakes feeling reborn. Save for the few murmurs of voices in the distance and the bubbly rumble of water rushing through pipes, he awakens to the sound of silence. He bolts upright, blankets pooling around his bare waist and his eyes flick around the room. Stiles is _not_ here. He gets up and just to be certain, peeks in the bathroom. Not there either. It’s then he gets that dreaded sinking feeling.

He rushes over to his bag on the table and searches his pants for his wallet… it’s missing and Stiles never did give him back the car keys. Derek’s suddenly struck with such an intense and inexplicable feeling of not only betrayal but loss as well. Stiles absence is a wound and it _hurts_. Derek thought… he doesn’t know what he thought, but it wasn’t this.

“_Fuck_!” The wolf hollers, slamming his fists down on the table, cheap wood splintering and the legs collapsing beneath it. He barely even looks as he grabs the lamp from the side table, wrenching the cord from the wall and tossing it in no particular direction. It smashes against the far corner of the room, nearest to the bathroom door.

With a furious growl he drags his claws through drywall, catching the curtains framing the windows and tears them down completely. His rage not yet soothed, he grabs hold of a chair and tosses it over the bed. With a bang it crashes into the wall, wood cracking, wall dented, while taking out a cheap framed painting of a sailboat. The wolf howls his pain as he lifts the other chair high above his head, seconds away from throwing it with all his might when the knob to the door outside rattles and a moment thereafter Stiles steps in.

The wolf watches wide-eyed as omega gasps when he sees what Derek’s done with the place. “Dude!” Stiles exclaims, looking to Derek who's wolfed out with a chair hanging above his head. “What the hell?”

Derek, as casually as possible, sets down the chair on a pile of rubble and fades his features back to human. “Where were you?”

“I went to get the car,” Stiles says. He holds out an oversized paper bag, the scent of which makes Derek’s mouth water. “I also got breakfast. I wanted to surprise you.” _He_ _wanted_ _to_ _surprise_ _him_…

Derek stares at the human. “You could have left a note.”

Stiles points to the nightstand where the lamp once was. “I did.” There’s a piece of paper on the floor, it must have fallen when Derek grabbed the lamp.

Well, now Derek feels stupid. He might have, just maybe, overreacted a little. “I didn’t see it,” he says. It does nothing to quell the confusion on Stiles’ face.

“So… because you thought I didn’t leave a note, you beat up the room?” If anything, the confusion on Stiles’ face intensifies. “I don’t get it.”

“I thought you weren’t coming back.” And, oh, _oh_, was that ever the wrong thing for Derek to admit to because the look of utter delight on the omega’s face is out of this world.

With a cheery grin on his face and a bounce in his step, Stiles closes the door with his foot, kicks off his shoes and hops on the bed, paper bag still in hand. “Breakfast in bed?” Derek hesitates. “Or we could go outside,” Stiles adds. “There’s a picnic table by the pool, even to my inferior human nose it smells _phenomenal_,” he sarcastically remarks. Considering the alternatives… Derek doesn’t really have a choice, does he? That’s what he tells himself as he climbs onto the bed.

“Yes!” Stiles excitedly says, throwing back the covers and tucking his legs under them as he leans against the rickety wooden headboard, pillow behind his back. Derek follows suit as Stiles unloads the styrofoam food containers. “So, I couldn’t decide between French toast, pancakes, or waffles… so I got them all.” Stiles tells him with mischievous grin. The wolf approves. “We also have sausage, bacon, hash browns and two servings of eggs—one sunny side up and the other scrambled.” Stiles grabs two bowls with plastic lids and hands one to Derek. “That one is berries and stuff for waffles or whatever.”

He pries off the lid to the other container, Derek’s happy to see it’s whipped cream. Stiles digs out a white plastic spoon from the bag and scoops up a heaping pile of it. He shoves it in his mouth, cheeks puffed out before he swallows and gives him a pleased smile, “It’s perfect,” he says, getting another spoonful and holding it out to Derek. “Want some?”

Derek considers it for a very short moment. He thinks better of it but opens his mouth anyway. The omega makes airplane noises as he puts the spoon into the wolf’s mouth, which said wolf decidedly ignores. When he finally gets to taste it his eyes slightly widen, surprised at how rich and creamy it is. There’s definitely a hint of vanilla in it, too. That’s his favorite.

Stiles laughs, “Right?” He reaches out to Derek, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away some excess whipped cream at the corner of his mouth. Their eyes meet, there’s nothing but sincerity and mirth behind Stiles’ gaze. Derek finds himself wondering what the omega sees in his.

Stiles looks away and starts pushing containers towards Derek. “Let’s get fat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I don't know how I feel about this chapter. As I've mentioned I've really been struggling to write sometimes and I feel like it shows. But who knows. Anyways, this is not my favorite, but whatever, they're getting closer and that's all that matters!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long getting another chapter out. I'll try to be quicker in the future! 
> 
> Angst ahead!

It’s around mid-morning when Stiles convinces Derek to lay on his belly. Stiles sits to the side of him drawing on the wolf’s bare back with his index finger. “I don’t know… is it a mushroom?” Derek guesses.

Stiles eyebrows raise, he looks unimpressed. “Dude, not even close. Do you want a hint?”

Derek huffs and rolls to his back. “This game is stupid.”

Stiles chuckles at that, placing a hand on the wolf’s stomach. “You’re just a sore loser,” the omega teases, gently tugging on a few hairs. Derek swats his hand away. In retaliation Stiles licks his finger and quickly sticks it in the wolf’s belly button.

“Stiles!” Derek roars, scooching up the bed and using his feet to shove Stiles off of it.

The human cackles evilly on the floor and pokes his head up into view. “My turn!”

“I can’t draw.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Stiles says, climbing up onto the bed and flopping face first into it. He turns his head and gives him a grin. “Come on,” he insists, pulling up his shirt around his armpits.

Derek sighs, shuffling a bit closer to the human. He presses his palm to warm skin and shoves the shirt a bit higher. He ends up doing swirls between Stiles’ shoulder blades, imagining a certain symbol there.

Stiles furrows his brow. “Give me a hint.”

“No.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “One hint. What’s the letter it starts with?”

“It’s a triskele.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, turning to his side to better look at Derek. “That’s what you have, right?” Derek nods. “What does it mean?”

The wolf shrugs. “Different things to different people. Mother, father, child. Earth, water, sky. Alpha, beta, omega.”

Stiles gazes at Derek with all the curiosity a child might have. “So, what does it mean for you?”

“Nothing anymore.”

Stiles snorts at that. “Well, that’s depressing.”

“My dad had the same tattoo.” Derek doesn’t know why he says that. It’s just a fact. A meaningless fact. A meaningless fact that he’s not so sure he’s proud of anymore.

Stiles’ perks, evidently interested in that little tidbit. “It’s special then,” Stiles says, sitting up cross-legged and facing Derek.

“No,” Derek huffs. “My dad wasn’t who I thought he was.”

“He was your _dad_. That’s special. That means something.”

Derek shakes his head, eyes falling to his hands. “He treated Peter like shit. He treated him like a thing.” His eyes flick up, meeting Stiles’. “We all did.”

“Derek…” Stiles reaches for the wolf, but the wolf brushes him off. Stiles continues anyway. “I know you love your mom.”

“I didn’t use to,” Derek tells him, guilt bubbling up and rearing its ugly head. “I hated Peter for surviving the fire. He was the least deserving. He’s an _omega_. My father should have lived. My siblings _should_ have lived. Hell, at the time, I’d have even taken Tahlia over him and there was no love there between us.”

Stiles frowns. “Did you really think that?”

“_Yes_,” Derek admits, face pained. “Despite doctors trying to sedate him, Peter would just writhe in pain and I’d think, this is what you_ deserve_, this is what you _get_ for being an omega.” Derek pauses a moment, trying to gather himself, trying not be so entirely overcome with self-loathing that he starts to cry. “_Who_ thinks that shit? What kind of person thinks that about their own mother?” Derek’s voice breaks, and he feels the heat behind his eyes and his hands beginning to tremble. He knows he should stop, should shut the hell up but he’s never talked about any of this before. _Never_. And there Stiles is, eyes looking pitifully at him, but not judgmentally so. He looks like he _cares_ and Derek doesn’t know what to with that, so he just keeps on talking.

“What I saw him go through… it was worse than death. There was no skin in sight, just meat and bone. Everything was burned from him, hair, fingernails… he didn’t even have eyelids, Stiles. He was something out of nightmare. He looked like an oozing, screaming corpse—I thought for sure he’d die. A part of me wanted him to. If he survived what was I supposed to do with him, huh? What was I supposed to do with some evil lascivious creature that had spent my entire life trying to ruin my father?”

The tears are coming now, hot and heavy, but he isn’t crying, not in a sobbing sort of sense. They’re just there, like an overflow of emotion that his body can’t handle so it expels it. Stiles is wiping them before Derek gets the chance, thumbs brushing them away. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve kind, beautiful, thoughtful, Stiles. He doesn’t deserve kind, beautiful, thoughtful, anything.

“Tell me more,” The omega murmurs to him.

“Eventually he got quiet,” Derek continues, but the memories chill him, they take him all the way back to that hospital. “Really quiet. Scarily quiet. I thought that was the end of him, but he was quiet for six fucking years. He just laid there, shitting and pissing himself with tubes all in him to keep him from wasting away. I can’t tell you the amount of times I left thinking I’d never go back. But he’s my _mother_, he gave me life, and look what I’d done with it. He was there because of me, so I sat there by his side every damn day.

“When he was at his worst, after weeks of him just screaming and screaming and screaming. I begged him to just _go_. Just _die_, stop suffering, stop fighting, just give up and die because I can’t take it. I couldn’t take hearing him scream like that anymore. Nobody should ever scream like that.

“Then the quiet happened and I got scared, because what if? What _if_ he died? What _if_ my mom died and I never even really knew who he was?” Derek holds Stiles gaze for a second or two, trying to reign in all his emotion. It doesn’t work, he’s vibrating with all the rage he felt back then, all the powerlessness and shame… all the guilt…

The tears are still there, blurring his vision, eyes hot, nose runny. “I started begging him to wake up. Wake the fuck up, Peter. _Wake_ _the_ _fuck_ _up_. I need my mother, so wake the fuck up!” Derek shouts out that last part, eyes flaring, Stiles’ startling. He can remember clear as day how lifeless, how helpless Peter looked in that hospital bed for all those years. Derek can all too easily recall the desperation he felt, the raw emotion of it all, can still feel the achy remnants of it in his bones all these years later.

Derek’s head falls forward into his palms as he sucks in deep breaths, claws extended at the tips of his fingers. Stiles is on him moments later, warm, gentle hands touching him all over, one in the back of his hair scratching soothingly over his scalp. “He got better,” Stiles quietly says.

Derek turns his head ever so slightly to the side to meet Stiles’ eyes. “Yeah, it wasn’t some miraculous thing. It wasn’t like the movies. He needed to relearn how to do basic stuff. He needed a lot of help… so I helped. Not because that’s what a son would do, but that’s what pack does. He’s my pack. He’s all the pack I have left.” _He’s_ _all_ _the_ _pack_ _I_ _need_, Derek leaves unsaid.

The wolf sniffles, palms rubbing at his eyes. He pulls his shit together and sits up straight. “I wouldn’t change things. I wouldn’t trade him if I could,” Derek resolutely states. He doesn’t know what kind of person that makes him. He doubts a good one. He can only imagine the look on his dad’s face if the man knew his own flesh and blood would save an omega over any one of them, over children.

Stiles nods along as he rubs comforting circles on Derek’s back. “I wouldn’t trade him either. He’s the reason I met you.”

Derek laughs at that. It’s watery and sounds a little pathetic but nobody here is going to judge him for it, at least he hopes not. “Before he took you, you said he talked a lot about me. What did he say?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles huffs with a goofy but fond smile on his face. “He totally thinks the sun shines out your ass.”

“He does not.”

“Oh, he most certainly does. He’s very proud of you.”

“He’s not,” the wolf tersely says. Those ever-creeping feelings of not good enough, failure, stupid, and worthless slither their way to the forefront of his mind.

Stiles presses a hand to his knee. “You’re a good man, Derek. That’s what every mother hopes their son will be.”

“I’m not,” Derek protests.

“You are,” Stiles says, smiling sadly at the wolf. “Bad men think they’re good men who can justify the terrible things they do. They don’t angst,” Stiles gives Derek’s knee a shake, “and they certainly don’t drive through the desert crying to Evanescence songs because of the trees.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo boy, this chapter was a struggle for me. I don't like writing this kind of stuff and I hope did alright considering. I prefer when things are more goofy and less serious. That's far easier for me to write for some reason.


	17. Chapter 17

They’re laying side by side on the bed together, Derek's staring at the ceiling. Under normal circumstances Derek would be bored. He’s not the sort to sit around and do nothing. Even now he doesn’t particularly want to be doing nothing. However, there’s a part of him that’s worried if he mentions that he’s sick of this motel room and wants to get on the road the omega will want to go their separate ways.

Stiles has literally no reason to go with him, and Derek has no reason to ask Stiles to come with him. He doesn’t even know where he’s going. He just goes. He goes and he goes and he goes until Peter needs him for something and then he turns around. Derek can hardly subject Stiles to that, can he? Well, could. He might. He wants to. But should he?

The wolf turns his head and looks at the human. Stiles’ eyes are closed but he’s not sleeping. The wolf wants to bite. The wolf wants to make him his, make him pack and then Stiles would have to go wherever he went. Stiles would want to, and if he didn’t, well, the wolf could order him to.

Derek thinks Stiles would make the most beautiful wolf. Strong and agile, and so so stubborn, Stiles would be a force to be reckoned with. But what if? What if the black goo came instead? What if it poured from his mouth and his nose, and even his eyes? What if he died slowly, in agony, all because Derek wanted him so badly he couldn’t let him go?

Stiles’ eyes flick open. He doesn’t even acknowledge that Derek is staring at him like some sort of creep. Maybe he’s used to it already. “Wanna play twenty questions?”

“No.”

Stiles doesn’t acknowledge that either, just rolls to his side and gazes intently at Derek. “I’ll start,” he says. “Hmm,” he adorably hums. He lifts a hand and fiddles with the front of Derek’s hair, shifting it this way and that until he seems content with how it falls. “What do you see when you look at me?”

“An idiot.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and playfully tugs at Derek’s ear. The wolf lets him because the wolf likes it. “Be serious. What do you see?”

Derek sighs. “I don’t know. An omega.”

“Is that all you see?”

“That’s two questions. I’m pretty sure that breaks that rules.”

Stiles pouts and Derek grins triumphantly. “Fine,” Stiles says. “Your turn.”

“There’s nothing I want to know.” That’s a lie. There’s a thousand things Derek wants to know. What’s Stiles’ favorite color? Does he have family? Does he have a twin so the wolf can have two of him? When’s his birthday? What’s his favorite food? Does he like Christmas?

Derek hates Christmas. He’s a big ol’ grinch, it comes naturally to him. Stiles seems like the sort to love Christmas. Stiles would buy him something emotionally extravagant, something that _means_ something. Derek would by him a frying pan or an ironing board because Derek sucks and he’d panic at the last minute.

What Derek really wants to know is why is Stiles here? What exactly does Stiles want from him? Derek can’t ask that, though. He can’t have Stiles suddenly evaluating the situation and realizing he’s a complete dumbass for being alone in some cheap motel room with an alpha that trashed the place _and_ pines for him. Stiles doesn’t know that last part. At least Derek hopes he doesn’t. There’s no way he could. Would it be bad if he did? Because Derek is beginning to wonder.

Stiles purposely meets his gaze, eyes beseeching. “_Please_. I really want to play.”

Derek sighs. “Why? That’s my question. Why do you want to play?”

“I want to get to know you better,” Stiles says. He pokes Derek’s shoulder, cheeks flushing. “I like you.” _Why_? Derek wants to ask. Why? Why? Why? “Do you like me?”

“I’m not opposed to your company.”

Stiles huffs at that, evidently quite annoyed. “I think you were a politician in a past life because you can’t answer questions for shit.” Derek slides his hand across the white fitted sheet, touches his fingers to Stiles’ wrist. He slides even further, fingers to Stiles’ palm and slowly curls his fingers between Stiles’ own. He gives Stiles’ hand a squeeze. Actions are louder than words, right? He _really_ likes the omega.

Stiles’ cheeks turn a beautiful crimson. “Ask me something.”

“Do you trust me?”

The omega bites his bottom lip as the thinks about it. “More than I probably should.” Derek rumbles at that, he can’t help it. It pleases the wolf. It pleases him a lot.

Stiles gives him a bemused smile. “I like it when you get all wolfy. It reminds me of what you are. It makes my inner damsel feel safe.” Derek honestly doesn’t know if that means Stiles has really good or really shit instincts.

Stiles swallows, something heated lurking behind his eyes. “Would you ever let your wolf come out to play, during, well, _you_ _know_?”

Derek’s eyes drastically widen. The hand holding Stiles’ starts to feel disturbingly clammy. “I’m pretty sure I don’t know.”

“_You_ _know_…” Stiles says, waving his free hand through the air like that’s supposed to mean something. “During S-E-X.”

“I’m illiterate,” Derek retorts, because what else is he supposed to say? Alphas and omegas shouldn’t talk about sex together, _ever_. It's inappropriate. Then again, they shouldn’t be sharing a motel room either. Whatever. Stiles gets visibly frustrated and for some reason that brings Derek a bit of joy.

“Would you have sex in your wolf form?”

“It’s not uncommon for two werewolves to have sex while shifted,” Derek tells him, knowing full well that’s not the answer Stiles is looking for.

“What if one isn’t a werewolf?”

“What are they then?”

“A pony,” Stiles deadpans. “What do you think?”

“I think you’ve asked more than one question.”

Stiles grits his teeth. “You’re legitimately infuriating.”

Derek shrugs, face playfully apologetic. “I don’t make the rules.”

Stiles glowers at him. It’s so cute. “Hurry up and ask a question.”

“Do you have family?”

“My dad. He’s called me like 12 times today. He’s definitely seen the news. He’s a cop.”

Derek chokes. On what? Probably a potential life sentence. “And you _just_ thought to tell me that?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I was saving that. You know, in case I ended up chained in a basement somewhere. _Duh_.” The omega gives the wolf's hand a squeeze. “But I trust you now.” He grins, albeit a little evilly. “_So_… have you ever kissed an omega before?”

Derek blinks wide-eyed at the human. “Absolutely not.”

“Your turn.”

“What’s your favorite holiday?” Derek questions.

“Christmas, obviously.” _Obviously_. “Are you attracted to me?”

Derek snorts. He’s beginning to wonder if the human is actually some sort of pervert. “I’m starting to get the feeling that you don’t, in fact, want to get to know me and instead you just want to know if I’d fuck you.”

Stiles rips his hand away and his whole face goes about a dozen shades redder. “Make love,” he corrects. “Not fuck.”

“Well, _excuse_ _me_.”

Stiles scrambles up in the bed and glares down at the wolf with a forlorn look in his eyes. “Can you blame me for wanting to know? Have you seen yourself? You’re like the male version of Helen of Troy. You’re the kind of hot a poor dumb sucker like me would start a war over. Plus, you’re nice to me and I feel like we have a connection, _and_ I’m a 21-year-old virgin,” _Hold_ _up. _“So, like, sex is basically all I’m capable of thinking about.” There’s something very primitive and animalistic that comes crashing its way to the forefront of Derek’s mind, and perhaps a bit between his legs, too. “Your eyes are red.”

Derek sits up, heart racing, claws popping. “You’re a virgin?”

Stiles furrows his brow. “That’s what you got from everything I just said?” the omega crosses his arms defensively over his chest. “It’s not that big of a deal.” It’s a huge deal. Like the biggest of all deals, but Derek can’t say why. He doesn’t know why. It just is. He feels in it his bones. Maybe it’s instinct, or maybe Derek’s a bigger creep than he ever imagined.

“Your virginity is irrelevant to me,” Derek growls out, fangs peeking out from between his lips. He’s fully shifted and he doesn’t really know how exactly that happened. His wolf is just there, out and about and raring to go and wanting to play so, _so_ badly with Stiles.

“Oh,” Stiles says, eyes roaming their way around Derek. “Oh wow. Did that just make you wolf out?”

“No,” Derek rumbles. That’s a big fat transparent lie.

Stiles eyes theatrically widen. “Holy shit. Does it turn you on that I’m still _‘pure’?”_ he excitedly asks, finger quotations and all.

“No.” _Lie_.

“I’ve had opportunities, you know? I’ve had a bunch,” Stiles tells him. Derek doesn’t like that fact. The omega’s eyes shift momentarily to the side. “Like maybe one or two opportunities… Mostly one… or two. Who can say really? I’m not counting.”

“But you didn’t?”

Stiles shakes his head. “I’m waiting for _the_ _one_.”

“The one?” That’s seems a bit juvenile, doesn’t it?

Stiles nods. “Mhmm…” He narrows his fiery gaze and looks straight at the wolf. “The one and _only.”_ Derek thickly swallows. Despite being an alpha werewolf, he’s suddenly feeling an awful lot like prey. “Anyway, who’s turn is it?”

Derek takes a few deep breathes and closes his eyes, trying to reign in the wolf. Red eyes flick open. It’s not working. “I’m done. I need a shower.” _A cold one_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELP! Quick question:
> 
> Okay, so I'm trying to figure out Stiles' genitals LOL. A part of me really wants to make him a hermaphrodite. So he'd have a penis and a vagina. This would make it so much easier for me when it comes to mpreg. I can't figure out the science behind butt babies lol.
> 
> Would you guys care if I did this or would you prefer him to just be a regular dude downstairs? Either way I'll still do mpreg.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to stick with Stiles being all boy. Mpreg is still a go, so don't worry about that.
> 
> Thank you all so much for responding to my last question and answering honestly. I haven't gotten the chance to reply to any comments since I've been writing like a mad woman.

Derek can’t stop thinking about the omega… can’t stop thinking about his scent, the flush of his cheeks, the way his lips might taste or how warm and soft and wet between his legs might feel. There’s something undeniably wrong with Derek, because he just can’t stop.

Derek wants to stop. He desperately wants to stop. He wants nothing more than to stop. He doesn’t want to be that guy. He doesn’t want to be that wolf. He especially doesn’t want to be the pitifully weak alpha that can’t control himself and fucks some omega whore.

But Stiles isn’t a whore. He isn’t nearly a whore, is he? He’s perfect and precious, pretty and pure. He’s everything a wolf could ever want, because Stiles waited. He waited for Derek, didn’t he? What a good boy.

There’s no such thing as pure, and there’s especially no such thing as perfect—Derek tries to tell himself this, but his wolf won’t listen. It _never_ fucking listens. It’s an archaic fiend and all does is want, and it oh does it want. It yearns, it pines, it howls for Stiles. If it could, it would be writing poetry and love songs under the shade of a willow tree right about now.

Derek’s bent over the bathroom sink. He splashes cold water onto his face, droplets dribbling down his arms and neck, some reach his chest. His squeezes his eyes closed and grips the sides of the porcelain sink with clawed hands. He sucks it deep breaths. Holds, _1-2-3_, and lets it out. He repeats this over and over until the wolf gets bored and recedes further into his head, letting Derek’s features fade back to human.

When he lifts his head and catches sight of himself in the mirror, he doesn’t know what he sees. It really doesn’t feel like him, it never has. When he looks in the mirror, he sees a stranger. He sees something that can’t possibly be him because certainly he’d recognize himself if it were, right? Instead, it’s just a face that he doesn’t even really like.

Derek hears the creak of the bed from the other room, the pads of Stiles socked feet on the floor, and then he sees Stiles reflection in the doorway behind him. His expression is one of concern. “Are you having an existential crisis?” the human asks. “It kinda looks like you are.”

Derek sighs. He never knew that it was possible to feel so utterly helpless just by looking at someone. “No,” he lies. Stiles frowns. Derek doesn’t think Stiles believes him. Which is fair, since he shouldn’t.

“You need to relax.” Stiles says while stepping into the bathroom and going to the tub, turning the rusty old taps. He puts a couple fingers into the stream of water, testing its temperature before pulling the lever attached to the spout. Water bursts from overhead and Stiles drags the shower curtain over bit, trapping the water in.

Stiles heads for the door, hand on the knob, but stops at the threshold for moment and turns around. Derek’s eyes meet those of Stiles’ reflection. “If you’re so ashamed of being attracted to me, why’d you put the ring on me in front of all those people? You could have walked away.”

“Stiles…” Derek says. He really doesn’t want to get into this right now.

“I’m a person. I’m no different than you. I think you know that.”

Derek’s eyes flare red as he turns around, fists clenched as he faces the human. “You’re an _omega_.”

Stiles shrugs. “Look me in the face a tell me that isn’t your favorite thing about me.”

Derek grits his teeth, nostrils flaring. “Fuck you.”

Stiles sighs, a disappointed little frown curving his lips. “What a pillar of maturity you are.”

Derek turns his back to Stiles since that’s far easier than facing him. He just can’t with Stiles. He can’t. He can’t go down that road, can he? He shouldn’t. Nobody would understand. Even he doesn’t understand. Because why? Why Stiles? What’s so special about him?

He doesn’t care that the omega is there, he shucks off his pants, ass to the room and steps into the shower. He throws the curtain shut, closes his eyes, and hides beneath the spray of warm water.

Derek wants to disappear. He wants to swirl down the drain and never be seen again. Maybe he could stand there until all his problems went away. Eventually Stiles would have to leave, right? Maybe he’d leave and never come back. Maybe, if Derek stood here long enough, he’d reach the end of time. There you have it, no more problems if the whole universe ceases to exist.

It’s the sound of the cheap plastic rings of the shower curtain scraping against the metal rod that has Derek opening his eyes. There, right in front of him is Stiles… beautiful, relentless, infuriating, Stiles—almost as naked as the day he was born. Derek doesn’t even know where to look, but he sees the outline of a cock that definitely isn’t his own in pair of purple boxer briefs and its very unsettling, yet not entirely unappealing, which only adds to the unsettling nature of it all.

“Tell me to leave,” Stiles says.

“What?” Derek chokes out, hardly able to breathe, let alone form a coherent sentence.

“Take the ring off my hand and tell me to leave this motel room and never look back.” Derek stares at him, tries to keep focused on Stiles’ face and pay no attention to what’s in his peripheral vision. Easier said than done. “Derek!” Stiles yells, holding out his hand. “Take it off.”

Derek reaches for Stiles’ hand, pads of his wet fingers touching the engagement ring. He hesitates, because of course he does. He’s weak and lonely and broken and the wolf wants. Hell, Derek wants, too. There’s no denying that.

He tries to tell himself there’s nothing to want. Stiles is nothing. Stiles is an omega and omegas are nothing, but that’s hardly true, is it? It would be easier if he could believe that. It would be a hell of a lot easier if Stiles wasn’t so beautiful… if Stiles wasn’t all kindness and smiles and hugs. It could be lie. It’s more than likely a lie. It has to be a ruse.

Derek knows what he should do in this situation. He should take the ring. He should tell Stiles he’s awesome and sweet and so so pretty, but no thanks, sayonara, nice knowing you, see ya never. Because this is a trap, right? Stiles is a trap and if he steps in, what happens next? How painful will it be? Derek doesn’t know if he can do this to himself again.

_But_, Stiles seems genuine. Needy, sure. Desperate, obviously. Yet, those are two things Derek can easily relate to. He was once so needy and desperate that it got his whole family killed. Stiles doesn’t smell of wolfsbane and deceit, though. Stiles smells like warm things, hope, and fertility, which is a terrifyingly enchanting mix.

Derek meets Stiles eyes, there’s no judgement there, just mild curiosity and what looks an awful lot like anticipation and _please_ _take_ _me_, _Alpha_. Derek feels it in that moment, he feels this dreaded lovesick tingle deep down inside the very core of him that tells him he’s well and truly fucked. He’s so incredibly fucked. There’s no two ways about it. He’s _fucked_.

He’s not taking the ring. He’s taking Stiles. Derek has to know what happens if he does. Even if it ruins him, even if it kills him, even if the whole world burns this time, he has to know… because he’s fucked. Fucked in the head and fucked for anyone else. Stiles is it, he thinks. Stiles is either absolution or oblivion, and apparently, Derek is a gambling man.

Derek drops the omega’s hand and grabs his wrist instead. Stiles is covered in gooseflesh, so he tugs him under the warm spray with him. After that Stiles is on him, all in his space, pressed against him, and hands in his hair. Barely an inch from Derek’s mouth he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?” For some reason Derek really appreciates that. Appreciates that Stiles doesn’t completely throw himself at the wolf because Derek doesn’t know if he’s entirely ready yet.

Only one way to find out… Derek gives Stiles a little nod and that’s it, Stiles is there, pretty plump lips pressed against his, and Derek, Derek freezes at first. While Stiles is extraordinarily enthusiastic, he’s just as unskilled. His mouth is open far too wide and there’s a disturbing amount of spit and teeth. When Derek feels a slab of tongue, he rears back and stares wide eyed at the omega because what the fuck did he just experience?

“What are you _doing_?” Derek questions.

Stiles’ cheeks flush and he scrunches his nose, blinking water from his eyes. “Was it bad?”

“It was awful,” Derek honestly tells him, brutally so. Stiles’ Adams apple bobs as he swallows, he tries to duck his head in embarrassment while taking a slippery step back, but the wolf doesn’t let him. No way is Stiles getting away that easily, horrendous kisser or not. “Follow my lead,” Derek instructs him, and this time, _this_ _time_, the alpha kisses the omega.

A part of the wolf was hoping he’d have some sort of epiphany when he kisses Stiles. One that says, ‘_Nope_, _definitely_ _not_ _gay_, _I’ll_ _go_ _back to_ _women_ _now’_. But when he kisses Stiles, when he holds Stiles’ face in his hands and brings the omega’s lips to his, when Stiles doesn’t do anything stupid and just melts against him, they’re lips sliding perfectly together as the omega whimpers this sweet noise, Derek thinks he could live in this moment for the rest of his life and be perfectly content with that.

Stiles’ hands grip the wolf’s sides, slowly making their way to his back where the water hits it the most. The human’s blunt finger nails dig in when Derek nips at his bottom lip. “Oh my god,” the omega breathes. “Do that again.” The wolf doesn’t hesitate and gives Stiles exactly what he wants.

Stiles moans into it this time, pressing his lips firmer to Derek’s, mouth opening just enough for the wolf to feel a hint of tongue. It’s perfect. Stiles is perfect. He’s all soft tantalizing lips, needy whimpers, and harsh breaths. Derek’s never wanted anything more than he wants Stiles in this moment. If he could, he’d possess him, devour him, live and breathe him. God, he’d fuck him. That’s not a feeling Derek is used to. The urge, the desire, the _need_ to fuck something, but he really wants to fuck Stiles.

Derek is also ever intent on torturing himself, so he drops his head to Stiles’ shoulder and hugs the omega close. “We should slow down,” he says.

“No, we definitely shouldn’t,” Stiles protests, but the water is already starting to run cold because the motel is shit, plus the human’s goosebumps are back, so Derek ushers him out of the shower and scrubs a towel through Stiles hair, making the omega laugh. Derek drapes the towel over Stiles’ shoulders and pulls it snug around him, then he grabs one for himself.

Stiles hugs the towel around himself, giddily smiling at the wolf. Derek can’t get enough of him, so quickly wipes the towel over his face and hair before slinging the it around his waist, tucking the edge in so it stays put. Then he reaches out and tugs on Stiles’ towel to pull him closer.

“Come here.”

“Why? You wanna kiss me again?” Stiles teases. Derek doesn’t bother to reply, just ducks down and gets a breath of omega while stealing a kiss or two. That’s answer enough.

Stiles is pink cheeked and dopily smiling when someone knocks on the door. Derek hates to pull away, but they knock again and he needs to tell them to fuck off. He yanks on the same pants he left on the floor since it’s not like he did any actual washing in the shower and makes his way into the bedroom. Stiles kicks off his wet underwear, carelessly leaving them on the bathroom tile, and trails after him, towel blanketed around his shoulders and hanging just above his knees.

Derek doesn’t even have to answer the door to know who it is. The heartbeat he hears on the other side of the door is very distinct. He’d know that deep, relaxed beat of a heart anywhere. It’s Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will say, despite this huge step. The end of Derek's inner turmoil is not near.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update. Hopefully the length makes up for it :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Despite Peter’s best efforts to be a nosy creep, Derek throws on a shirt and heads outside without letting Peter see in the room. There’s no way he’s getting into why it’s trashed, nor why both he and Stiles are damp.

They jump into Peter’s car just for reprieve from the sun. Peter’s Tesla smells like new car and panic, specifically Peter’s. It puts Derek on edge and makes the wolf in him want to touch and cuddle its mother. Derek would sooner take a hacksaw to his own arms before he gave Peter a snuggle, but still, the feeling is there and he’s sure the other wolf can smell it, though thankfully, Peter doesn’t mention it.

They’re sitting parked in the lot, only a few yards away from the trashed motel room Stiles waits in. Peter is anything but pleased to see Derek. He looks a bit manic with his hair disheveled and pants slightly wrinkled, yet he is ever imposing. How the omega does it, Derek isn’t sure. Maybe it’s a mother wolf thing, they’re just innately terrifying when they’re pissed at their puppy.

“What the fuck, Derek?!” Peter eventually hisses, holding out his phone in front of the alpha and giving it a shake. “We have one rule. _One_ _rule_. We don’t turn off our phones. For all I knew, you were dead.”

“I wasn’t dead. I was _drunk_.”

Peter looks like his head might just explode. “Were you also drunk when you went on national television and put your great-grandmothers engagement ring on that human’s finger?”

Derek grimaces. “It was the wolf. I didn’t mean it how it looked.” Peter cocks his head in the most murderous way and gazes at the alpha like he doesn’t know what the hell he sees. “I’ll fix it,” Derek quickly says.

Peter slowly shakes his head, sighing, appearing a bit sorry for having given birth to such a big dumb dog. “You’ve really fucked up.” Derek knows this, he’s been actively trying not to think about that since Stiles is light, Stiles is all good things, and that’s a lot more tempting than thinking about all the reasons why he shouldn’t think that.

“I’ll fix this,” Derek insists.

The wolf hates the way Peter looks at him, it’s full of pity and ‘_I’m so sorry, son_’. “You haven’t seen what’s on TV, have you?” Derek gives his head a shake. With how somber Peter has gotten, Derek has a feeling the tidbit he saw last night doesn’t count. “Keep it that way.” Peter’s eyes narrow and he leans a bit closer, reaching a hand over the center console and placing it on Derek’s knee. “I’m serious. I know you. Don’t turn on the TV. Promise me.” Peter squeezes Derek’s leg so hard it hurts and the bone creaks. “_Promise_ _me_, Derek.”

“Okay,” he breathes. He feels chilled. He feels worried, and he wonders what exactly he’s done. “_Can_ it be fixed?”

Peter’s hand leaves Derek’s knee and it goes for the wolf’s hair instead. It’s odd feeling Peter’s fingers run through the side of it. Under normal circumstances Derek wouldn’t hesitate to slap it away, but Peter reeks of the sour metallic scent of distress and Derek doesn’t know how to handle that. “You need to keep your head down, alright? Every hunter in America knows exactly where you are right now. You also need to stay away from other wolves. You’re weak—” _I’m_ _not_, Derek wants to scream. But he is, though, isn’t he? He’s the weakest. “You have no one but me and nobody is going to take that seriously. Other wolves felt sorry for you before… that only goes so far, Derek. Your spark is vulnerable.”

Derek swallows uncomfortably, a pit in his stomach beginning to grow. “You think someone might try to take it?”

“I know they will. If I wasn’t an omega, if the spark would take and you weren’t my, well, you know, it’s what I’d do.” The wolf can’t help but feel hurt by that.

“Because I’m weak…” Derek says, it’s more of a statement than a question.

Peter gives him a curt nod. “As far as others are concerned, it’s wasted on you. No pack, no family, and now everyone thinks you’re some queer shacking up with a human omega… no one is going to feel guilty killing you for your alpha spark.”

Derek huffs, scrubbing his hands over his face. This is too much. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You can start by ditching that human. He’s dead weight.”

The wolf in him doesn’t like that idea. Derek looks to the motel room door, wondering what Stiles is doing on the other side. “I can’t.”

Derek can feel Peter’s eyes on him, can feel the judgement behind them. He doesn’t have the courage to meet them, so he just keeps staring at the door. “Did you bite him?” Peter asks, tone hopeful. “I don’t feel a connection.”

“No,” Derek says, forcing himself to look his mother in the eye. Peter’s eyes flick between his two and Derek knows the moment Peter sees it, sees the true depths of his weakness and how absolutely abhorrent he is.

“Jesus Christ, Derek,” Peter angrily hisses, turning his head away and gazing disappointedly out the window.

“I’m sorry.”

Peter nods but doesn’t turn his way, nor does he look particularly forgiving. “Are you at least using protection?”

Derek feels heat creeping up his neck and heading straight for his cheeks. “We haven’t. I don’t even know if we will.”

Now Peter turns his gaze to him and, boy, does the wolf look unimpressed. “You will. You alphas are all the same. I’ve never met one that knows how to keep their paws to themselves.”

Derek disagrees. “I’m different.” At least Derek thinks he’s different. He’s never felt particularly dominant. Always been more bark than bite. Never been the sort to chase after sex, nor the sort to yearn for power, just for what was.

“You’re weak,” Peter corrects. Derek faces crumples, because he knows. He _knows_ and he’s so sorry for it. Maybe Peter sees it, he doesn’t know, but Peter reaches out and gives the wolf’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “That can be your greatest strength if you want it to be. You just have to wield it the right way.”

“How?”

Peter shrugs. “You’re the alpha. Figure it out.”

“You think I should start with a pack?”

“I think lost, lonely alphas make dumb, desperate decisions. Alphas are only as strong as their pack.” Peter looks to him, really looks, it’s something fierce and protective. “Your spark is brighter than most. You’re a true alpha and very few wolves can say that. Your father couldn’t. You were born with something brilliant inside you, I’ve never doubted that. You are meant for so much more than some solitary nomadic life, hopping from one shit motel room to the next. You are meant for greatness—I’ve never doubted that either.” Derek doesn’t know what to say. He’s pretty sure Peter is blowing smoke up his ass, though, but Peter doesn’t stop there, no he doesn’t. “I think you could change the world if you wanted to.”

Maybe Stiles was right. “You’re insane.”

Peter ignores him. That seems to be a trend amongst omegas lately. “All eyes are on you, Derek. Now is the time to make your move.” Peter actually sounds serious and the wolf is having a hard time believing it.

“And do what?”

Once again Peter shrugs. “What do you want the world to look like?” Derek doesn’t have a fucking clue. “Think about it.” Derek doesn’t know if he should. That sounds an awful lot like having hopes and dreams, and that doesn’t quite compute with the wolf.

Peter turns in his seat, body facing Derek, gaze just as fierce as before. “I believe in you, son.”

Something in Derek shatters… it crashes, it bangs, it booms, it explodes, and the wolf in him whimpers this sad, ugly thing—it wants its momma. Derek is half way across the center console before he even registers what he’s doing. He doesn’t stop though, just wraps his mom in a tight embrace and presses his face to the crook of Peter’s neck. He nuzzles in there, closes his eyes and just breathes. This close Peter smells a bit like how Derek remembers home.

Peter’s grip on him is just as snug, hands fisting the back of Derek’s t-shirt. Derek can feel Peter’s nose in his hair and for some reason it brings him a hell of a lot comfort to know Peter is scenting him. The alpha lets out a pleased little rumble when Peter presses a cheek to the side of his head and rubs, leaving his scent behind.

Derek can’t believe he’s never hugged his mom before because now he never wants to let go; he probably wouldn’t have if Peter didn’t practically pry himself from Derek’s arms. “Shit,” Peter breathily says as he pulls away, eyes misty. He rubs at them and quickly pulls himself together. He even tugs down the visor, glancing in the mirror and fixes his previously disheveled hair.

When their eyes meet Derek thinks Peter looks softer, younger somehow, though still a bit douchey in that V-neck t-shirt. “So, what are you going to do about the human? Are you going to give him the bite?” Peter questions.

Derek’s eyes drift back to the motel room door. “I don’t think I can.”

“Of course you can,” Peter insists. “Even if he doesn’t want it now, he’ll come to thank you later.” Derek hasn’t even thought about what Stiles would want. He doesn’t know what that says about him. Technically it shouldn’t matter. An omegas opinion, at the end of the day, really doesn’t matter. Yet, here he is getting a pep talk from one.

“I’m worried it won’t take,” Derek admits.

Peter makes a face, Derek can’t quite decipher it, but he knows Peter is thinking he’s weak. “Ah, I see. You don’t want him to die.” Derek nods in agreement. He really, really doesn’t want Stiles to die. “He’s a human omega, Derek. He’s nothing. You need to get your priorities in order.”

Stiles is a lot more than nothing. “He’s something.” Derek hasn’t quite figured out what that something is yet, but it’s not nothing and he thinks that’s a very important distinction to make.

“You’ve known him for a whole two seconds, Derek. He’s not something to ruin your life over.” Isn’t it ruined already? Hasn’t it been ruined for years?

“He might be,” is all Derek can say.

Peter looks like he wants to hit him. Maybe he wants to smack him out of whatever lovestruck daze Peter thinks he’s in. “He could be using you.”

“He seems sincere.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “People can seem a lot of things. You know that more than most.” Derek does. He certainly does, but he’s also dumb, and needy, and he’s full of want and desire and it’s all directed toward Stiles. He doesn’t know how to talk himself down off that ledge, he’s actually pretty sure he’s jumped head first already.

There’s a moment of silence between them before Peter starts talking again. “What exactly do you think he sees in you? Because as far as I’m concerned, you’ve got all the charm of a toad.” _Thanks_, _mom_. “So what is it? Money? Power? _Maybe_, he actually wants the bite.”

“I’m not biting him,” Derek snaps. He won’t risk it. “The only way I would is if he were mortally wounded or something.”

Peter gives him predatory smirk. “I could arrange that.”

The alpha doesn’t like that. He rumbles out a growl, eyes flaring. “Leave him be.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Stiles thinks I am.”

This piques Peter’s interest and he looks absolutely delighted. “Does he? He must be quite dull then.” He’s not, Derek thinks. He’s the opposite. He’s vibrant colors, sunshine, and lively river rapids. He’s a marvelous wonder. He’s perfect despite there being no such thing. Derek can’t tell Peter any of that, though. Peter would laugh at him and that would be terribly embarrassing.

“He’s, uh, he’s quite irritating,” Derek tells him instead.

Peters eyebrows raise. “Is he?”

“He’s the worst,” Derek says, a fond smile on his face and hearts in his eyes, he’s certain.

“And this… this feels like you want more than just sex from him?” Derek suddenly dreams of a world where omegas and mothers aren’t legally allowed to say the word ‘sex’. It’s too outlandish, or perhaps he’s just too immature.

“It feels like it could be a thing.”

Peter snorts at that. “A thing?”

Derek grits his teeth, eyes raging red. “Yes, Peter. A _thing_.”

“You want the human to be your _boyfriend_?” Peter sounds disturbed and Derek is right there with him.

“No,” Derek growls out through gritted teeth. “I want him to be mine.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Boyfriends can break up with you.” And it’s _gay_. So gay, and Derek isn’t that. He can’t be. There’s just something about Stiles… and most omegas and the occasional guy he sees strolling down the street.

“Oh, so you want to own him?” Well, that’s a terrible way of putting it, _but_, in a sense, Derek supposes that might be the case. “Does Stiles want to be owned?” Derek can’t imagine he does. Maybe if he asked nicely and said pretty please. Maybe he shouldn’t even ask and just take. Derek doesn’t know if he’s that sort of wolf, though. He doesn’t think he wants to be.

Apparently, Peter can sense his inner turmoil. “You’re the alpha, Derek. It’s nice to consider someone’s feelings, but you don’t have to. Not his at least.”

“Because he’s an omega…”

“Exactly. You’re the alpha. You make the rules.” Derek finds himself looking at the motel door again. He conjures Stiles up in his mind and tries to picture telling Stiles what to do and the omega actually doing it. Even his imagination isn’t that wild.

“It’s not like that between us.” Derek doesn’t even want it to be. He likes that Stiles teases him, and in a very odd way he enjoys it when Stiles pisses him off. Stiles isn’t scared of him and that’s his favorite thing about the omega. Well, that, and his pretty everything.

“It should be,” Peter insists. “He’s not your equal.”

“Neither are you,” Derek retorts. He can see Peter bristle at that, but the wolf doesn’t argue otherwise. Derek wonders something… “Do you think you should be?”

“That’s like asking a mouse if it wants to be a cat. It doesn’t matter what the mouse wants. It matters what the mouse _is_.”

“It matters to me what the mouse wants.”

Something cold slithers behind Peter’s eyes. “Then you’re not only weak, you’re a fool. I am not your equal. Stiles will never be your equal. Even if he wasn’t an omega, he’s still human. He’s a glorified toy. You should treat him as such.”

“I’m not going to treat him how dad treated you, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

The look on Peter’s face actually scares Derek. The omega is furious, eyes wide and calculating with a hint of madness behind them. “Your father _loved _me,” Peter vehemently proclaims. “He treated me how I deserved to be treated.” Derek wonders how many nights Peter has stayed awake in bed and repeated that mantra to himself over and over again, because surely, he can’t actually believe he deserved to be treated the way the wolf remembers it. Then again, Derek used to believe it, too. A minuscule, sexist, pea-brained part of him still does. It just doesn’t feel right anymore.

“I don’t think he loved you,” Derek mentions, not to be cruel, but because he can’t understand loving someone and then brainwashing their child into believing their mother was practically the devil himself.

“You don’t even know what love is,” Peter hisses in reply. “He treated me how an alpha should treat an omega. That _is_ love.”

Peter isn’t the sort to be pitied, but Derek feels it. He feels sorry for Peter and he feels utterly ashamed that he sat back and let it all happen. Even if Derek had been just a kid, he should have known better, he should have done something. “Mom—”

“Don’t you ‘_mom’_ me,” Peter rages, going from furious to irate. “You may have come from my body but I’ve _never_ been your mother.” Derek wants to argue that’s because his father didn’t let Peter. Peter had to sneak around during the dead of night, tiptoeing his way into Derek’s room to give him a cuddle, only to be betrayed when one day Derek told on him and it never happened again. Derek hates what an idiotic and gullible child he was.

Derek also really wants to argue that things could have been different, way different, a beautiful and happy sort of different, if only his father had been a kinder wolf. Derek doubts Peter would hear it, though.

“Okay,” Derek agrees, hurt despite understanding. “I won’t say it again.”

“Good,” Peter says with finality. “Now get the fuck out of my car.”

“Peter…” Derek tries to reach for him, to reach for his mother, to do what, he’s not certain, but the omega stinks of distress and sadness and grief. It hurts Derek’s heart and the wolf in him is howling for its mom, it wants to calm and soothe and protect.

Peter doesn’t let him. Peter painfully slaps his hand away, claws ripping through Derek’s skin. “I said get the fuck out!” he ferociously shouts, angry eyes flaring a liquid gold.

“Peter!” Derek roars in pain, cradling his injured hand as it heals. Blood dripping everywhere. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Stiles emerge from the motel room barefooted in a pair of shorts, probably having heard the commotion. He’s also wearing a tank top with drop armholes. It’s outrageously obscene in a slutty sort of way. The wolf likes, the wolf loves, because the omega is his and everyone can look but they can’t touch, but the wolf can. Only the wolf.

Derek is distracted for only a moment since Peter absolutely loses his damn mind. “Get the fuck out!” Peter screams, shoving at him, hitting him open handed, yet painfully on his chest, his shoulder, his face. The omega just keeps wailing, claws catching flesh every now and again.

“Peter! Christ!” Derek hollers, trying to grab at the omega’s wrists, but Peter just won’t let up and Derek’s afraid of hurting him. Out of his peripheral he catches Stiles rushing up to the passenger side of the car and pulling the door open. Derek finds himself flopping out of the car onto warm pavement.

Only a second later, Stiles is yanking at his arms to get up, yet as the human bends, Derek can see the omega’s entire chest through the oversized arm holes. It’s just about the most scandalous thing he’s ever seen, and it’s also super fucking weird being flashed in front of his own mom.

“What fuck is wrong with you?” Stiles shouts at Peter as he drags the wolf up by one of his underarms.

Peter erupts from the car like a rabid volcano and immediately goes for Stiles, Derek stepping between the two. The alpha quickly realizes this is becoming a scene, they’re a hell of a spectacle, people are watching. People are literally coming out of their rooms to stare, and a couple that had been walking their dog down road has stopped to watch, one of them filming.

Derek gets flashbacks from yesterday and has the strong desire for a bolt of lightning strike him dead right this instant, even a meteor would do. Maybe one big enough to take the whole town out, so everything that’s happened in the past 24 hours can be a devastating, yet obliterated memory.

“I ripped the throat out of the last bitch that fucked with my alpha. I should do the same to you,” Peter threatens, claws popped, eyes flaring and a hint of fang showing. Although he isn’t completely shifted, Derek can tell his wolf is begging for it.

Stiles grabs onto the back of Derek’s shirt and stumbles a few steps back, taking the wolf with him. Derek’s about 99% certain Stiles is using him as a shield. Derek’s actually kind of thankful for it since he’d prefer this over Stiles doing something stupid enough to provoke Peter further. However, moments later Derek hears the rustle of fabric and the telltale swish-click of a switchblade, and Derek remembers, yes, Stiles is indeed just that stupid.

Derek blinks, looking back at Stiles and wonders if this is real life. It can’t be. He hopes it’s not. He really doesn’t want his omega to have a knife and claw fight with his freaking mom. Also, Derek can’t help but notice that Stiles isn’t even using the same knife as last night. Derek briefly ponders how many the human has on him. Derek finds it mildly arousing. He has nothing to say for himself.

Peter tries to shove Derek aside. Luckily, the alpha can be an unmovable brick wall when he wants to be. “You need to relax,” he tells Peter.

“Yeah, calm your tits, _mom_,” Stiles taunts, which helps literally nothing at all. Derek throws a heated glare at the younger omega and flashes his eyes at him, willing him with all his might to back the fuck off. Stiles wrinkles his nose and frowns, but sheathes his blade at the very least.

They all stare at each other for a bit, it’s weird and painfully awkward, but Peter’s features calm and become human once more.

“I’m willing to call a truce,” Stiles eventually says, bless his little omega heart.

“I don’t trust you,” Peter glowers.

Stiles’ eyes comically widen, jaw dropping. “You shove me into your trunk, drive hours into the freaking desert, and give me to your son like some super illegal and morally twisted birthday present, and you don’t trust _me_?”

A smirk finds itself a home on Peter’s mouth as he crosses his arms. “You’re welcome.”

Stiles’ arms flail, clearly flabbergasted. He can’t even, Derek can tell. The wolf has been getting that feeling a lot lately, too. There’s a glint, though. A glittery glint of the ring on Stiles’ waving hand that both Derek and Peter catch.

“Why is he still wearing that?” Peter questions Derek, pointing to the engagement ring on Stiles’ finger.

Stiles doesn’t give Derek time to answer. “Because we’re engaged,” he proudly tells Peter, albeit a bit smugly. Derek’s genuinely beginning to worry the omega might actually believe that.

“How fascinating,” Peter drawls, and Derek is curious to know if Peter can’t find the lie in Stiles’ voice either. “When’s the wedding?”

“We haven’t picked a date yet, but I’m thinking sooner the better.” Derek truly can’t tell if Stiles is fucking with Peter or not. He hopes to high heavens he is, but the wolf in him doesn’t seem to mind either way.

Stiles steps to Derek’s side and clings to his arm like a sweet baby monkey. “I really like Derek. I promise I’ll take good care of him.”

Shockingly enough, Peter seems somewhat appeased by that. Peter’s eyes roam back and forth between the two of them as Stiles links their fingers together. It’s weird. Stiles is human, Stiles is male, and Stiles is an omega, yet Derek’s holding his hand in public where people can _see_ and they definitely do, his own mom included. It feels no good, bad, dirty, wrong, but he doesn’t pull his hand away, if anything the anxiety causes him to squeeze a little too tight because Stiles flinches. Derek will apologize later.

Peter meets his gaze and he silently scrutinizes Derek for what feels like the most uncomfortable two minutes of his life. Peter finds something but Derek doesn’t have a clue what it is. “Alright,” Peter eventually says, “I’ll text you boys in a bit to let you know where I’m headed. Stay within a few hours of that.” With that said, Peter saunters to his Tesla. However, just before he hops in he glances back at Stiles, wrinkles his nose in distaste, and says, “Derek, buy your omega a proper shirt,” and just like that, off he goes like the past 10 minutes didn’t just happen.

Once Peter’s car is out of sight Stiles turns to him, eyes frantic, heart rate jackrabbiting, and hands touching Derek just about everywhere. “Holy God, are you okay? You’re bleeding.”

“I was bleeding,” Derek replies, frowning down at his bloody and ruined clothes. “I’m fine now.”

“What’s wrong with him?” _A lot_, Derek thinks. He shoves Stiles away because the omega won’t stop grabbing at him and it’s making him feel smothered.

Derek heads for the motel room, ready to pack because he’s done with this dump. Stiles trails after him, his bare feet slapping on the ground. “Maybe it’s menopause,” Stiles suggests. Derek shoots him a glare as he grabs his stuff off the ground. He doesn’t want to talk about Peter’s uterus. “What?” Stiles questions. “I heard it can cause mood swings.”

“Peter’s fine.”

“Yeah, see, typically, I’m in favor of ignoring problems until the go away, too, but Peter is a big problem and he’s not going away. So…”

“So he’s not your problem,” Derek grouches, tossing his bag on the bed. “Pack your shit.”

Stiles huffs in exasperation, though thankfully starts grabbing his few odds and ends. Mostly he follows Derek around with an irritating nervous energy. “He is my problem, you know, because he’s your problem and we’re, we’re a thing now, right?” Stiles queries, looking at Derek all doe-eyed while nibbling on his bottom lip and anxiously tugging on the hem of his tank.

Something Derek can only describe as excitement bubbles up in him. “Yeah,” Derek agrees, nodding, a rare smile cracking through his stoic exterior. “Yeah, we’re definitely a thing.”

Relief washes over Stiles and he grins like the loon he is. “Awesome.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, chapter twenty already! I don't even think we're halfway through yet.

Derek is so happy to see trees—_real_ _trees_—that he could cry. They’ve been driving for a couple hours, heading south on the 120 through Yosemite National Park. It’s beyond beautiful. Although, Derek can’t help but think that when it comes to Stiles, it pales in comparison.

The omega has the passenger seat as far back as it can go, back slightly reclined, one barefoot on the dash, and the other out the window resting by the mirror. He’s sipping some obscure brand of root beer from a class bottle, condensation gathered on the sides while his tank top flutters in the breeze.

Derek keeps glancing at Stiles because the omega doesn’t look real. He’s too beautiful to be real. The wolf has this terrible fear that at some point he’s going to blink and when he opens his eyes the human will have vanished because he was never even there to begin with.

When Stiles catches him looking for what’s probably the millionth time, the human laughs the most joyous thing, head tilted back and the outer corners of his eyes crinkling—it steals Derek’s breath away. Stiles shakes his head at him and takes a sip of his root beer, a little dribble sliding down his chin that he wipes away with back of his hand. His attention turns to Derek afterwards, amber eyes glittery and full of mirth in the sunlight.

“I want at least one baby,” Stiles excitedly tells him, causing Derek to nearly swerve right off the road and plummet down a ravine.

Derek sucks in a deep breath, wide-eyed and overwhelmed. The wolf in him is totally on board—the savage that it is—but Derek isn’t ready for that kind of a commitment. He’d only just kissed a dude for the first time, he’s so not ready to make a baby with one.

“I want at least a dozen,” the wolf declares, mostly just to fuck with the human. Derek’s not about to acknowledge the long-suppressed part of him that wouldn’t mind a big happy family someday.

“Dude,” Stiles breathes, looking a little sick. “That’s like ten too many.”

Derek shrugs. “It’s all or nothing.”

“You’re so full of it. There’s no way you’d be caught dead driving a minivan to haul your litter around.”

“I might.” He wouldn’t. “My dad used to have me run alongside the car sometimes.”

Stiles snorts at that. “You’re messing with me, right?”

Derek gives his head a shake, a fond reminiscent smile creeping onto his face. “It was to build stamina, to be the best that I could be. I loved it.”

“So, it wasn’t all bad then?” Stiles questions.

“No, it never really was.” Derek feels a little guilty saying that because he doesn’t know if Peter, when not deluding himself, could say the same. “Pack is the best feeling in the world. It’s euphoric, it’s like a warm blanket that would fight and die for you.”

Stiles nibbles at his bottom lip. “Is it the same for omegas?” The wolf’s heart sinks.

“I don’t know.” Probably not, Derek thinks.

“Would pack die for their omega?” That’s an easy no, they definitely wouldn’t. _Yet_, as Derek looks at Stiles, he thinks he’d go down fighting for his omega if he had to. Derek can’t possibly be the only wolf in the world that feels this way, can he?

“It would depend on the pack,” Derek answers.

Stiles nods along in understanding. “It’s not so different for humans… My mom,” Stiles starts, voice catching. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “She was an angel, you know? Like, literally my angel. She saved me, so did my dad, but she was just… I don’t know, _more_.”

“How’d she save you?” Derek asks, genuinely curious.

“I was five when she became my foster mom, but like, I think I knew when I first met her. Sometimes you just know things about people, you feel it in your bones or soul or something. I knew she was going to be the one that adopted me. I knew in my heart she was my mom.” Stiles takes a shaky sip of his root beer before placing it in the center console cup holder. He reaches a little further and grabs Derek’s right hand, pulling it over to his lap to hold onto.

“She fought for me when the state said there were better suited, more deserving children that she could adopt. I was pretty troubled by that point. I’d never had a family keep me for than a few months. Plus, I have a uterus, and who wants a boy with one of those?” Stiles explains to Derek as he fiddles with the wolf’s fingers, observing his blunt nails and running the pad of his thumb over the smooth curve of them. “She wanted me anyways. She loved me. She was the first person to ever love me… that’s special. She taught me that I deserve good things. She taught me I’m more than what the world says I am.” Out of Derek’s peripheral vision, he can see Stiles lift his head and sorrowfully look to him. “I was holding her hand when she died.”

Since the road is particularly windy Derek can’t meet his gaze. “Stiles,” the wolf mumbles, turning his hand in Stiles’ to give the omega’s a comforting squeeze.

A watery, melancholic smile tilts Stiles’ pretty lips. “She wouldn’t have liked you,” he teases. “Not at first at least, but she’d give you a chance. She’d give anybody a chance.” Stiles brings his feet to the floor and turns to Derek the best he can with his seat belt on. “Hug your mom every chance you get. I wish I did that more.”

Derek takes his hand away from Stiles and places it on the wheel, gripping it tightly, though not at tightly as guilt grips him. There’s no way he can make up for 29 years of missed hugs, he doesn’t even know if Peter wants him to.

About an hour later they pull into a gas station. Stiles needs to pee and Derek figures they may as well grab some gas while they’re there. Besides a few families idling around at the picnic tables under the shade of coniferous trees, it’s a quiet spot with a beautiful view if your back is to the pumps.

Derek can hear the rumble of an engine and the obnoxiously loud sound of rowdy masculine voices before he even sees the truck pull in. It’s an older silver lifted Chevy. They park up front in a handicap spot, and when four guys, no older than 19 pour out, Derek can smell dumbass youths and werewolves in the breeze.

With a bark of laughter and some pushing and shoving they head inside. Derek feels uneasy, his hackles raising. Stiles is still in there, so he prowls across the lot and peeks in through the window which is basically the entire front wall of the gas station. Three of the four wolves are at the slushie station while another is looking at chips.

Luckily Stiles comes out of the washroom relatively unnoticed, though Derek does see that the lone wolf eyes the omega as Stiles hands back the key. That wolf must sense the alpha creeping because his head swivels and their eyes meet, both pairs flaring red in unison. Derek bares his teeth in warning and the other wolf just laughs and laughs and laughs, waving his pack over. Stiles, of course, is oblivious to it all as he exits—a little ding-dong chiming as the door opens.

“Oh hey!” Stiles greets as he sees the wolf lurking. “Can we get snacks?” Derek wants to yell at him and ask how in the hell has he possibly survived this long with absolutely no instincts whatsoever? Instead Derek grabs him by the wrist and hurriedly drags him across the lot toward the Camaro at the pump, the human stumbling haphazardly along the way. “What the hell, Derek?!” Stiles exclaims.

“We need to go.” Because if shit hits the fan, Derek doesn’t know if he can take on three betas and an alpha. He’s leaning towards probably fucking not. “Get in the car,” he snarls, roughly shoving Stiles at the passenger door as he rounds the car to the other side.

“Dude!” Stiles huffs, shooting him a peeved glare as he slides into the car. “What’s gotten into you?”

Derek doesn’t answer, he can only watch with extreme paranoia as the wolves depart from the gas station, snacks in hand, and thankfully head for their truck. When it roars to life, Derek lets himself relax a little. Derek reaches for his door handle just as the wolves drive by, one in the back rolling down a window. A beta wolf grins wildly at him as he chucks a slushie at Derek, a chorus of “faggots!” being hollered from inside the truck.

The cup smashes against the right half of the Camaro’s windshield, splattering red mushy ice all over the car and Derek. His t-shirt ends up drenched, his pants speckled here and there, but it’s the fact his face is covered, sticky juice in his eyes, and bits of ice in his hair that has him feeling absolutely mortified.

Derek genuinely wants to scream when as he listens to the wolves guffawing, tires screeching as they head out onto the road. His wolf is begging to be freed, howling at Derek to let him out and let him at them. Derek isn’t that stupid despite his wolf wanting him to. He’d probably just end up roadkill. Pathetic, faggoty roadkill.

“What assholes!” Stiles indignantly thunders as he emerges from the car. He scurries over to Derek and grabs a bunch of brown paper towels from near the squeegee station. “Some people, huh?” Stiles says, eyes rolling, shoulders shrugging, in a ‘what can ya do?’ sort of way.

_Yeah_, Derek thinks, _some_ _people_.

Stiles dabs at his face, the paper towels feeling more akin to actual sheets of paper. They don’t absorb well and it kind of seems like Stiles is making the mess worse. Derek looks over the omega’s head to the picnic tables under trees. A few families are watching but they don’t say anything. Why would they? _Cowards_.

“I want to kill that pack,” Derek rumbles, eyes flashing, fangs dropping. The families look away and hold the littlest amongst them a bit tighter. Derek wants to decimate that pack. He wants to make them beg for mercy and he doesn’t want to give it to them.

Stiles halts his movements. “Let it go, man. They’re meaningless.” Nothing about this feels meaningless. Just a couple days ago he would have gotten respect from that Pack. He would have gotten a few courteous nods from the betas and handshake from the alpha. Now he’s a fucking joke to them.

Stiles steps away to toss out the paper towels, grabbing the cup from off the ground while he’s at it. When he comes back he places his hands on Derek’s sticky arms. “Can I kiss you?” Derek’s eyes wander to those families and he finds himself shaking his head no.

Stiles follows his line of sight. “You don’t want to kiss me in front of people? They’re not looking.” They’ll still see. They’ll still judge.

Derek sighs and tugs his arms away from the omega. “I can’t.”

Stiles sadly frowns but he nods in understanding. “Can I hug you at least?”

“You’ll get sticky.”

Stiles shrugs. “You’re worth it.”

Derek eyes are on the people, but they flick to Stiles, then back to the people. He does this a few times before they stay on the human. The wolf decides he wants comfort from his omega more than he cares what a bunch of moms think about him. He opens his arms up and Stiles happily slides in, squeezing his arms around his middle and pressing his face to Derek’s damp chest.

The wolf dips his nose into the top of Stiles’ hair, his own arms tightly around Stiles’ shoulders. Because he’s a sad needy dog, Derek deeply inhales. The omega smells like everything that’s right in the world.


	21. Chapter 21

The motel they decide to spend the night at is like a million others Derek has been in. Nothing fancy. A prehistoric TV, a bathroom that smells of mildew, and a queen size bed—the hygiene of which is questionable at best.

They’ve eaten, they’ve showered—separately—and now Stiles sits on the edge of the bed wearing only a pair of his own batman themed pajama pants while his phone vibrates in his hand.

“It’s my dad,” Stiles sighs, looking at the device like he’s considering tossing it out a window. “He’s called me more times today than a year has days.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I can’t imagine why,” he says as shuffles across the bed and sidles up behind the omega, his inner thighs pressed against Stiles’ outer ones. The omega leans back against his chest as Derek wraps his arms possessively around him and tucks his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck.

At first, he just breathes in the human, content in the comfort that avails. Yet, at the end of the day Derek isn’t much more than big needy brute of an animal, and he quickly finds himself pressing his lips to the tender skin there, kissing it adoringly, because at the end of Stiles’ day, he’s a thing to be worshiped, of that Derek is sure.

Stiles shudders out a moan, tossing his phone to the nightstand and gripping his hands to one of Derek’s forearms. “Oh my God,” Stiles breathes, tilting his head to the side to give the wolf better access.

Derek rumbles out a growl as he nips and sucks tender flesh, goosebumps rising beneath his lips. When the skin turns pink, he slowly makes his way up to the omega’s jawline and kisses his way to Stiles’ pretty mouth, devouring it once he gets there.

The omega’s mouth is warm and pliant, lips soft and plump and just so utterly addicting. That mouth makes him want more, makes him crave everything, and they make the wolf in him howl.

The angle isn’t ideal, Stiles must agree since he breaks the kiss only for a second just to turn in Derek’s grip. He straddles the wolf’s lap, arms over his shoulders and hands possessively in Derek’s dark hair. The wolf’s eyes flare a lustful ruby red behind his closed eyelids as Stiles whimpers the neediest thing as he rocks against Derek and kisses him more firmly, almost ravenously.

It’s then Derek begins to smell a faint alluring scent coming from Stiles. It’s the kind of smell the wolf in him wants to chase. It’s pre-pollinated flowers, fruit just before its ripe, and the most intoxicating mix of hormones that scream, ‘_breed me, alpha_’.

_Fucking_ _hell_, his omega is aroused, and if the scent wasn’t proof enough Derek can _feel _the evidence of it pushed up against his lower belly. Despite that evidence being Stiles’ dick, Derek wants. It scares him how badly he wants. He doesn’t understand it. He’s never felt anything like it, but the want is there and overwhelming. God, he’d devour Stiles if he could... beautiful, precious, _horny_, Stiles.

Derek lifts the human, Stiles’ legs clinging to his waist. He presses Stiles’ back into the middle of the bed and is about to go for more kisses, more Stiles, when the omega stops him. “Take your shirt off,” Stiles breathily demands, hands tugging at the material. “I want to feel you.” _God_ _yes_, Derek thinks.

Derek doesn’t hesitate, he drags his shirt over his head as Stiles clumsily tries to help along the way. He’s more of hindrance, but the alpha doesn’t complain since the omega’s enthusiasm _really_ turns him on.

Stiles’ hands are reaching for him the second he chucks the shirt to the floor. Stiles’ wide eyes are full of lust and wonder as he places his palms on the wolf’s belly, feeling the ripple of firm muscle beneath. They slowly glide up Derek’s torso, over his pecks, and along the curve of his muscular shoulders.

“Just looking at you makes me wet,” Stiles marvels, and Derek, well, Derek just about drops dead. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard something so vulgar exit an omega’s mouth before, but Lord have mercy, does it ever do things to him, does he ever love it... does he ever want to hear so much more of it.

“Yeah?” Derek murmurs, going for Stiles’ lips because that seems like the safest thing to do and he needs a distraction. Stiles gives a barely there nod as he kisses him back, hips raising to meet Derek’s. The wolf shouldn’t encourage that kind of behavior, he knows he shouldn’t, but he can't help but eagerly move his hips against Stiles' as he kisses the omega fiercely, hands touching everywhere they can and never staying in one place too long because he wants to feel it all, he wants to possess every bit of Stiles.

Derek knows beyond all doubt that he has never once in his life even come close to being as aroused as he is in this moment. All he can think about is how hard his own cock is in his sweats and how good it feels to push against the omega over and over. They’re dry humping like fumbling horny teens and somehow, someway, Derek is totally fine with that because this is new, so new, and so _good_. 

The wolf feels the tickle of Stiles gentle fingers slide over his ribs. They continue south and brush against the groove of his spine and hesitate at his waistband. “Can I go lower?” Stiles asks through a kiss.

Derek nods as he lowers his head, pressing his mouth to Stiles’ throat. “Whatever you want,” he mumbles, lips skimming over the omega’s Adam’s apple while on his way to the little divot between Stiles’ shoulder and collar bone. He kisses just to taste and nips his way back to Stiles’ mouth.

Just as their lips meet Stiles hands grab the firm globes of Derek’s ass over his clothes and pushes Derek harder against him. They moan in unison, the human’s heart thumping harder and louder as his breaths come out in swift, harsh pants. Derek lets the omega set the pace and meets him thrust for thrust, though Stiles quickly becomes more erratic in his movements.

Derek knows the moment it abruptly happens for the omega. His rosy lips part as they fall away from the wolf’s mouth and he throws his head back on the pillow, eyes squeezing shut while his fingers roughly grip the wolf’s ass to hold him in place. Stiles’ hips give a few twitchy hitches, his breath catching, body clenching… then he moans this blissed out little noise as his cock throbs—Derek can _feel_ it against his own as he watches the omega raptly.

Before Stiles even opens his eyes his cheeks flush pink with embarrassment. “Oh my God,” he whispers, arms rising to cover his face.

Derek doesn’t let him. He gently shoves those wayward arms aside. “Don’t be shy,” Derek quietly tells him. “I liked it.” Derek more than liked it. That was by far the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.

Stiles doesn’t look like he believes him. “Did you…?” Stiles queries, nodding towards Derek’s crotch. The wolf shakes his head no and the red of Stiles’ cheeks intensify. “_Oh_ _my_ _god_,” he groans, pushing Derek away and rolling over onto his stomach to hide his face in the pillow.

Derek’s still hard as he sits by the omega’s side, letting him wallow. Stiles peeks at him with one eye and asks, “On a scale of one to ten. How scarred are you for life?”

The wolf reaches for the human, dipping his fingers into the side of Stiles’ silky hair. He flattens his palm over the back of Stiles’ head and slides it down to his neck. He rubs his hand there, making a few little circles to get his scent nice and situated and stuck.

“It’s not something I’ll ever forget about, that’s for certain.”

The one eye of the omega’s that Derek can see widens before he sticks his full face back in the pillow. Stiles stays that way until he has to come up for air. When he does, he sits up for a few moments gazing dazedly around the room before sliding off the bed. “I’m just, uh,” he waves to his crotch area. “I’ll be right back,” he says, grabbing another pair of sleep pants from a pile of his junk on dresser near the bathroom door.

Derek flops back on the bed and closes his eyes. He doesn’t allow himself to think because if he does, he knows he’ll panic. By the time Stiles is done tidying himself and emerges from the bathroom the wolf is sprawled out over the bed, half asleep. Stiles crawls over to him and hovers his head above Derek’s. “I can… you know… return the favor if you want.”

The wolf blinks tiredly and looks up at Stiles. He’s flaccid now, but that doesn’t mean he’s not tempted. “I’m fine.”

Stiles pouts. He’s adorable, truly. “I’ll do anything you want,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. Despite the stupid face Stiles is making, what he says just about turns Derek feral. Pretty omegas with stupid faces shouldn’t say such things to alpha wolves.

“We don’t have to rush.”

“Dude,” Stiles huffs with a self-deprecating smile. “I just sprinted across the finish line. I left you hanging. I should make it even.”

“We are even,” Derek insists.

“But you didn’t come.”

Derek shrugs and moves closer to the omega, resting his head on Stiles’ lap. “I thoroughly enjoyed watching _you_ come, though,” he says, eyes closing and suppressing a yawn. He’s ready for sleep.

“Yeah?”

“Promise,” Derek mumbles as Stiles nails scratch soothingly over his scalp. He falls asleep just like that.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead! Sorry for taking so long to upload a chapter--real life and all that.

Derek knows everyone is staring. He can feel their judgment creep through his skin and leave burning hot embarrassment in its wake. He wonders what foul things they must think of him. Yet, Stiles doesn’t even notice. How can he not notice?

They’re seated in the middle of a family restaurant, a cacophony of noises ringing shrill through the wolf’s brain—voices booming, dishes clashing, and children screaming—and the people all stare. He knows it. They’re staring and they’re judging and they must think the worst of him.

Do they think he’s some lecherous freak? Some homo pervert? A faggot? They must. They have to, because that’s what he is, isn’t he?

While sucking a mouthful of cola through a straw, Stiles eyes him curiously. “You seem tense.”

“Everyone’s staring at us.”

Stiles’ brow furrows as he shifts his gaze around the restaurant—moss green carpet, ancient red cushioned chairs, mahogany wood, and so, _so_ many people. When his vision flicks back to Derek he looks at the wolf as if he’s crazy. “Dude, no one is looking.”

“Everyone is!” Derek snaps, eyes searching the place. He swears people glance away just as his attention sets on them.

Stiles reaches across the table and places a hand over his, face concerned. “Is this about those guys yesterday?” No. Maybe. He doesn’t want to think about them. He doesn’t want to think about how gross they made him feel.

Stiles gives the top of his hand a squeeze. “Nobody here cares. I promise. We’re just two dudes eating lunch together.” The engagement ring on Stiles’ finger tells a different story. The television at the bar tells a different fucking story.

Derek refuses to look at the TV, but he’d gotten a glimpse as they’d walked in: UNPRECEDENTED PROPOSAL BETWEEN AN ALPHA WEREWOLF AND A YOUNG CARRIER HAS MADE WAVES…

Stiles smiles at him and lifts the back of Derek’s hand to his plush lips and gives the wolf’s knuckles an affectionate kiss. Derek can’t help but think that’s not what two dudes at lunch do together. They shoot the shit. They talk about sports and video games, and how asshole Andrew at work is such a slacker. They don’t kiss each other anywhere, _ever_.

Stiles turns over Derek’s hand and presses little kisses to the pads of his fingers. The wolf shouldn’t be allowing this, but he does because it’s Stiles, and Stiles has warm moist lips that Derek desperately wants to push past. He wants to press his fingers into the omega’s pretty mouth and have him suck on them.

“Have you two decided on your order?” The waiter says, voice curt, while seemingly appearing out of thin air and startling Derek. The wolf rips his hand away from Stiles’ grip, face flushing as he subtly tries to adjust his pants because he’s uncomfortably hard inside them.

“Yes!” Stiles excitedly says, passing over his menu. “I’ll get the nachos to start. All the fixings, extra cheese and extra sour cream, please.”

“And for your main?” The waiter asks, top lip curled in a faint sneer of disgust, like he’s trying to fight it. Derek doesn’t like him because the wolf has instincts and a bit of common sense. Stiles, however, does not.

“A bacon cheese burger. You have curly fries, right?” The waiter nods, nose slightly turned up. “I’ll get a double order of those.”

Derek blinks at the omega. Is he that oblivious to the waiter’s blatant disapproval of them? Also, is he actually trying to get a self-induced heart attack? “You can have a salad to start and there’s no way you’re getting a double order of fries.”

Stiles takes his attention from the waiter and heatedly glares at the wolf for a long moment. Eventually, he turns back to the young beta wolf holding the menu. It’s definitely a wolf, Derek thinks, deeply inhaling to scent the air. Derek can smell him.

“I’ll have what I ordered _and_ a chocolate milkshake.”

Derek huffs and practically throws his menu at the waiter. “I’ll have a chicken Caesar wrap,” the wolf orders, though he thinks about it for a second, “and a mint chocolate fudge brownie milkshake,” because, you know, why the fuck not? He just hopes nobody spits in it.

“Is that everything for you two?”

Derek thinks it over. “I guess I’ll have some mozzarella sticks to start.” Stiles breaks out in an ear to ear grin.

The waiter robotically nods. “Do you want your milkshakes now or after your meal?”

“Now!” Stiles happily tells him.

As they drink their milkshakes and wait for their starters, Stiles fidgets in his seat, knees bouncing up and down while his feet accidently kick Derek’s every once in a while. Stiles keeps grinning at him with the straw in his mouth. It’s adorable and it makes the wolf want to leap across the table and kiss him.

“Derek,” Stiles eventually says, kicking Derek’s shin. That was definitely on purpose. “I like you a lot. Did you know that?”

The alpha can’t help but smile a bit at that. “I had my suspicions.”

Stiles eyes fall to his cup as he stirs the milkshake with the straw. He appears almost sheepish as he thinks. The gears are turning in his head, the wolf can tell. The human’s Adam’s apple bobs before he meets Derek’s eyes, a fierceness, a bold determination behind them.

“We should have sex.” The second that’s out of Stiles’ filthy mouth the cup Derek is holding drops from his hand with a loud clunk, minty green ice cream with little brown bits splattering all over the table. Heads swivel their way. People are looking—there’s no way Stiles can deny it this time.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Derek gawps, cheeks a fiery red with the rest of his face quickly following suit. Stiles quirks a brow and looks at Derek’ like _he’s_ the weird one. The omega pushes over a few napkins and Derek goes quickly to cleaning the table to distract himself.

“I think it would be really good,” Stiles nonchalantly says. Derek lifts his gaze from the table and glowers furiously at the omega. Has he no decency? No self-respect?

“Stop.”

“Ever since last night I keep thinking about what it would be like,” Stiles seemingly confesses. Derek’s eyes dart around the restaurant to make sure people aren’t actively listening in. “I would have given my virginity to you if that’s what you wanted.” Good lord, can the human not hear himself? Is he purposefully being raunchy? Does he enjoy being crude?

“You need to _stop_,” Derek demands despite the wolf in him snarling in protest. The wolf in him enjoys his crude, horny, beautiful omega.

Stiles sighs in frustration. “You’re the biggest prude I’ve ever met. Can we not discuss sex like adults?”

“No!” Derek exclaims, eyes wide and heartbeat frantic. “You’re an _omega_.”

Stiles blinks at him, gazing at the wolf like he’s the biggest, dumbest dog the human has ever seen. “I fail to see the point you’re trying to make.”

“It’s not proper.”

“Dude,” Stiles huffs, “I’m cool with stroking your ego from time to time, but if you want me to be some prim and proper, yes alpha, no alpha, please and thank you alpha, I need your permission to take a piss, and fuck me but forget about my pleasure type of omega, you’re looking at the wrong guy.”

Derek shakes his head, thoughts whirling, and face hot as he shoves cold, sticky and soggy napkins aside. He mostly just managed to smear ice cream across the whole surface of the table anyway.

“That’s not what I meant,” Derek tells him. It truly wasn’t. Derek doesn’t want that. He just wants Stiles to have some manners, some decency, perhaps a bit of tact. Is that too much to ask?

“Look,” Stiles begins voice lowering as he leans partway across the table and closer to Derek. “I’m not stupid, alright? I know what we have going on is atypical.” The human sucks in a breath, holds it a moment before he blows it out. “Ever since I can remember people have been telling me I can’t, or I shouldn’t, or how I’m worth less than everybody else because I’m a dude with a uterus. Sometimes I even believe these things. The thing is, Derek, when I’m with you, I don’t believe it, not even a little, which is odd because sometimes I get the feeling you do.” Stiles’ pauses, eyes patiently questioning. “What do you honestly think of me? Like, am I _just_ an omega to you?”

The wolf opens his mouth to say something, but the guilt silences him. He doesn’t know what to say, so he says the only thing that comes to mind. “You’re a treasure.” If there’s one thing Derek absolutely knows for certain, it’s that Stiles is priceless.

The human looks stupefied and his face instantly flushes, but it has far more depth than shy embarrassment. His eyes tear up, nose and brow a little scrunched as he quickly wipes away the wetness. “Fuck,” Stiles breathes. “Fuck-fuck-fuck. Ignore me.”

Derek doesn’t. He stands up, rounding the table, and slides into the seat next to Stiles. He opens his arms and tugs him in close because there’s no way the wolf in him won’t comfort his omega, judgmental customers or not. With a heavyhearted sigh, Stiles melts into him. Derek protectively wraps his arms around him, shielding him from the world if he must.

“Are you okay?” Derek queries.

Stiles gives his head a shake and buries his face in the crook of Derek’s neck, eyes squeezed shut. “I’m emotionally unstable at the moment.”

Derek gently rubs one of his hands soothingly over the human’s back. “Did I say the wrong thing?” He is particularly good at that.

“No, you said the _right_ thing. I’m afraid you’re a delusion.”

The wolf gets a hint of smile. He can’t help it. The omega is ridiculous. He dips his nose into Stiles’ hair and just breathes. “I’m not a delusion,” he contentedly murmurs, doing his best to pretend there is nobody else in the restaurant but them.

“That’s probably what a delusion would say.” Stiles lifts his head; the human’s gaze is watery but not unhappy. “You’re too good to be true, epic proportions of emotional baggage included.”

“I feel the same about you. Minus the baggage.”

Stiles eyebrows raise in surprise. “Seriously?” he asks and Derek nods. A silly little smile tilts the omega’s lips while fire and delight burn brightly behind his eyes. “You can’t ever leave me, okay?”

Alarm bells go off in Derek’s head. This should terrify him. This should have him running for the hills, screaming. Stiles has spent a whole two nights with him and he’s already saying this shit. It’s crazy. It’s so fucking crazy. It’s the kind of crazy his father warned him about, but Derek figures he must have also lost his damn mind because he finds himself particularly agreeable. His father warned him about that, too.

“Okay,” Derek complies, feeling utterly powerless to say anything on the contrary.

Stiles aptly grins like a mad man as he throws his arms around the wolf’s shoulders and gives him an enthusiastic hug. Derek encircles his arms around the omega because what else is an alpha to do? He barely gets more than a moment or two to enjoy it before the waiter from earlier comes over, and it’s not with their side dishes.

The waiter rudely clears his throat. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you two to leave.”

Stiles tenses in his arms. The wolf pulls away to turn toward the waiter. “What? Why?” Derek questions.

“This is a family establishment,” the waiter informs them like they’re a bit on the slow side and didn’t already know, “and with all due respect your continuous displays of PDA are not only disturbing the customers but the staff as well.” The restaurant quite suddenly feels like it’s just about ten-thousand degrees hotter as Derek burns with humiliation all the way past his guts and straight to his core.

Stiles scoffs beside him, eyes dramatically rolling. “What a load of horseshit,” he tersely remarks, the waiter’s muddy brown eyes widening.

“_Stiles_,” Derek hisses, grabbing his wrist, trying to calm the riled-up human.

Stiles yanks it away and angrily gets to his feet, furiously eyeing the waiter. “I came here to enjoy a nice meal with my fiancé,” Oh, fuck Derek’s life, fuck everything about his life, “and you kick us out for what? Being in love?!” the omega exclaims, the outburst making sure everyone who wasn’t looking at them before certainly is now.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down,” the waiter requests. Derek briefly wonders if in all of history has it ever worked when someone tells someone that they need to calm down.

Stiles scowls, he looks unbelievably angry. Just as the omega opens his mouth to say something, the waiter reaches for him—to do what, Derek can’t say. It doesn’t matter, it’s a firm _no_ from the wolf. He’s up in an instant and in between the two. “Touch him and I touch you,” Derek snarls threateningly, eyes raging red. Gasps are heard around the restaurant.

The waiter stands firm, crosses his arms over his chest while his eyes flash a bright beta blue in return. Derek doesn’t scent a hint of fear. “Get out, traitor. Take your mouthy bitch with you.”

Derek’s wolf bursts out of him in an instant. With a heavy brow and claws descending, he bares his fangs as a deep rumbling growl emanates from him. “Say that again,” the alpha snarls while he takes a step toward the waiter. Stiles soft hand grabs hold and tightly grips his elbow, attempting to pull him in the other direction toward the exit. The wolf doesn’t budge.

The waiter smirks a vicious thing, eyes still flaring. “Take your bitch and _leave_.”

Derek vividly imagines a hundred different ways to kill the wolf in front of him. He wonders what the beta’s liver would taste like as he ripped it from his gaping bloody torso with just his teeth.

“Derek!” Stiles practically shouts at him, getting his attention as he tugs on his arm. “He’s not worth it. Let’s just go.”

“Listen to your bitch, _Derek_,” the waiter snidely remarks.

“Yes,” Stiles says, reeking of desperation as he gives the wolf’s arm shake. “Listen to me. I want to go.” A part of Derek really wants to listen, to give Stiles what he wants. The man in him knows he should be the bigger person and walk away. However, currently, he’s more wolf than man and the wolf is _alpha_, and people, especially this disrespectful fool, need to know that.

Derek rips his arm away from Stiles and lunges at the waiter. Derek would be hard-pressed to describe what happens even as a scuffle. The other wolf flails backwards, features becoming distinctly canine, but Derek is on him and takes the waiter to the ground.

The beta beneath him panics. He’s smaller, younger, and not even half as strong as the alpha. He’s all swiping claws and snapping jaws and it does _nothing_ to deflect Derek. The alpha shoves forward with a roar, sinking his teeth into the spongy flesh and stringy tendons of the beta’s neck. Snarling, eyes wild, he clamps his jaw down and tears.

Blood does more than splatter, it gushes. The beta gurgles breathlessly for air while clawed hands come up to cling at his neck to stop the flow of blood and help aid healing.

Derek leaves him like that and climbs to his feet. His mouth tastes of copper and a sniveling cockroach of a beta, while red covers his scruff, paints his bared teeth, and drips from his chin. Stiles looks horrified, and a bit faint, too. Although, his scent is quite curious.

The alpha points to the human with a clawed finger and glances irately around the restaurant with glowing eyes. There are a few children crying and couple frantic parents, but mostly patrons and staff alike are gawking, some using their phones to film or take pictures. “The omega is _not_ my bitch. He’s my fiancé.” That last part is out before the smart, rational part of Derek can even think to stop it. The overprotective and possessive animal in him wants the whole world to know just who Stiles is, and Stiles is no bitch. He’s so much more important than that.

He’s what Derek said. He’s a treasure, and that treasure belongs to the alpha.

The wolf looks in disgust to the beta on floor in a pool of his own blood. He wants to gloat, to ask the waiter who’s the bitch now, but he’s never been the gloating sort. It’s just poor form. Instead he turns his attention to Stiles.

They’re eyes meet. The omega is clearly shaken, yet at the same time the wolf can smell the heady scent of arousal surrounding him. “Derek?” Stiles tentatively says.

“Come here,” the wolf rumbles. Stiles, oddly enough, doesn’t hesitate to do as instructed. He’s just about to reach for Derek when he notices the moist patches of blood on the wolf’s shirt. He pulls his hands away with an upturned nose and a repulsed look in his eye. So just to be an ass, Derek practically shoves the omega out of the building.

In the bright light of day, the omega stares wide eyed at him. He’s not the only one. “I have really mixed feelings about you ripping that guy’s throat out.”

“It was necessary.”

Stiles doesn’t seem convinced. “I’m a bit skeptical if I’m being honest.”

Derek’s features fade back to human as he lifts the hem of his shirt and uses it to wipe some of the blood off his face. “He’s an asshole.”

Stiles nods along. “Yeah, no, like I totally agree. There’s no debating that. Dude was a super massive blackhole of an asshole… but you ripped his throat out.”

Derek shrugs. “He’ll live.”

Stiles blinks at him, he looks a bit like he might be bordering on hysterics. “I think you’re missing the point… which is that you ripped his throat out with your teeth.”

“He didn’t respect me,” Derek tells him. “Now he respects me.”

Stiles makes a face. He’s far from pleased. “Is this an alpha thing?”

“No, it’s the principle. A beta shouldn’t talk to me like that.”

The omega furrows his brow. “So, it is an alpha thing.”

Derek huffs in exasperation. “I don’t know. Maybe. You’re my—” Derek doesn’t even know what Stiles is to him.

“Fiancé,” Stiles supplies and the wolf’s heart palpitates as the world spins. Derek can’t even argue otherwise because he literally just said that himself.

“You’re not my bitch is what I’m trying to say. I didn’t like when he called you that.”

“I know I’m not.”

Derek’s eyes flash red “Well, now so does he and that whole fucking restaurant, too.”

Stiles gazes at the wolf, his mouth tightening into a thin line. “I mean, you could have just _told_ him that.”

“I did. With my teeth.” Stiles looks to the sky as if praying for patience. “Don’t act like some primitive Neanderthal part of you didn’t like it. I could smell the lust on you.”

The omega’s face flushes. “I swear to God there’s an actual damsel trapped inside me and she’s such a slut. Nothing like a big, strong, and scary alpha ripping someone’s throat out in her honor to get the juices flowing.”

Derek wrinkles his nose at that. “You’re actually disgusting.”

“Yeah, but you love it.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, you guys! Thank you so much for supporting this story. I was so scared to post and thought for sure everyone would think it was trash. Yet somehow it's reached 1000 kudos. Thank you guys so much, you make me never want to stop writing!

They’re just outside of Modesto and heading north on route 99 towards Sacramento. Derek is driving but that doesn’t stop Stiles from dangerously distracting him by trying to feed him soggy, over salted fries they got from a drive thru. Derek nips at his fingers and the omega laughs so hard he has tears in his eyes. The sheer beauty of it takes the wolf’s breath away.

Stiles’ eyes glitter with mirth as he unwraps a suspicious looking burger that hardly smells like beef at all and takes a big bite, a mixture of ketchup and shredded lettuce slopping to his lap. With a mouthful of food he asks, “How many people have you had sex with?” Derek isn’t even shocked by this question, only a little perturbed.

Stiles lifts the burger to Derek’s mouth. When the wolf opens wide the omega practically jams the thing halfway down his throat, causing him to violently gag. Derek rips his watery eyes off the road to glare heatedly at the omega. “Are you trying to kill us both?!” he roars.

Stiles smiles innocently. “You hit a pothole.” What a big, beautiful, yet shitty liar the omega is.

“_No_, you just have zero eye-hand coordination.”

“_Anyways_,” Stiles says, changing the subject, “if I didn’t know you better, I’d assume you were some sex god that has slept with at least half the female population and maybe even an omega or two on the down low.”

Derek’s brow raises curiously. “And now that you know me?”

“No more than three women, and that’s being generous. Definitely no omegas. You’re just so prickly, plus you’ve got all sorts of walls up, man, and don’t even get me started on the internalized homophobia.” Stiles takes a messy bite of the burger and gives the wolf a sweet look as he chews. “But ya,” he continues, mouth full, though pausing just a second to swallow, “you don’t seem the type to be into no strings attached sex, which is cool and kinda hot, because me too. I want all the strings.” Stiles takes another bite and ponders a few moments before glancing to Derek, shoulders determinedly square, yet eyes cautious but hopeful. “We’ve got strings, right? Because we’re a thing.”

An amused and enamored smile minutely crooks the corners of Derek’s lips. “Yeah, there’s a string or two.”

Stiles cheeks turn a striking petal pink as he grabs his soda from the center console drink holder, ice rattling around inside the cup as chomps on the straw and noisily slurps. He steals beguiled, yet furtive glances of the wolf when he puts the cup back and rustles around in the paper food bag, grease splotches galore, and comes up with a handful of fries. He tries to sneakily stick one up Derek’s nose, but the wolf manages to smack it out of his hand before it gets in very far.

Stiles cackles in delight, grabbing it off the floor and making a show of eating it anyway, the disgusting little beast that he is.

“You belong in a barn,” Derek chides.

Stiles nods enthusiastically as he sucks the salt off his fingers. “I’d totally make out with you in a hayloft.” Derek rolls his eyes so hard they almost get stuck in the back of his eye sockets.

Stiles gaze distractedly wanders outside the passenger side window, so the wolf darts his right hand out and steals the last half of the burger from Stiles’ grubby paw. He eats it in one bite as the omega scowls disapprovingly at him.

Stiles takes another peak out the window and says, “just so you know there’s a cop behind us,” as he leans closer to Derek and checks out the speedometer. “Don’t go over the speed limit unless you want a ticket.”

Derek glances in the rear view mirror. Right behind them is the black front of a Modesto police cruiser. The wolf tenses, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary—he swears the cop wasn’t there a few minutes ago.

Let it be known that Derek hates cops. He hates literally everything about cops, especially the authority they have over him that he is powerless to protect himself from. If he could press a button and have them all spontaneously combust, he just might. It figures that his omega’s dad would be one.

“You look like you just swallowed a bug,” Stiles muses.

Derek sucks in a deep breath as he nervously flicks his eyes to the rear view mirror again. “I fucking hate cops.”

“Dude,” Stiles says, not at all impressed. “They protect and serve. They risk their lives every time they go to work. They’re heroes.”

Derek angrily grits his teeth. “Protect and serve who exactly? Not werewolves.” If Stiles grew up around cops, he should know the statistics. He should be well aware that werewolves are far more likely to be shot by a cop than helped by one.

Stiles’ lips purse, brow wrinkling. He looks like he’s doing his best impression of having sucked on a lemon. “Not all cops are bigots, you know? In the line of duty, my dad would lay down his life if it meant saving yours.” Derek doesn’t believe that for a second.

“Then he’s an anomaly and a dumb ass, which would perfectly explain how he raised an idiot like you.”

Stiles eyes practically bulge from his face as he crosses his arms in an angered huff. “Well, at least I’m smarter than _you_,” he childishly replies.

“That’s hardly an accomplishment,” Derek tersely retorts. He’s aware, he’s _oh so_ aware that he’s got mush for brains. He has a pretty omega riding shot gun that the wolf in him is half in love with him already. Nothing dumber than falling for exactly who he shouldn’t. He’s been there, done that, and apparently, he hasn’t learned a goddamned thing.

Not even a moment later blue and red lights begin flashing behind them as the cruiser’s siren gives a short _whoop-whoop_.

Derek whips his head to the to the side to look at Stiles, enraged eyes glowing as he snarls, “I fucking hate cops!”

The omega places a comforting palm on Derek’s tense forearm. “Maybe you have expired tags.”

Derek shakes his head. “Peter wouldn’t let something like that lapse.”

Stiles’ brow creases, a judgmental shimmer in his gaze. “Really, you get your mom to do that for you?”

Derek’s brow raises while his eyes widen to a manic extent. “Unlike you, Peter, at the very least, likes to seem useful.”

Stiles takes his hand away, frowning at the wolf. “You’re rude when you’re agitated.”

“I’m not agitated!” _He’s_ _scared_, but Derek doesn’t say that. He just begrudgingly flicks his blinker and turns the steering wheel, directing the Camaro to the right side of the road while simultaneously praying this is all a terrible hallucination.

The wolf cuts the engine and flips down the visor above him and looks in the mirror. He cringes at the sight of himself. While he’d done his best to clean the blood off his face, he ultimately did a piss poor job of it. There’s crusty bits of blood dried in his scruff and a flaky red mess trailing down his neck while his shirt is a complete write off and should probably be burned.

“I look like I ate somebody,” Derek breathily remarks, feeling panic evolve into overwhelming dread. He’s going to get shot, he just knows it. He’s going to get shot a hundred-thousand times. He’s going to be shot until he’s nothing but werewolf sludge on the side of the highway.

“Did you really not notice the way that lady looked at you when we went through the drive-thru?” Stiles asks, eyebrow curiously raised. Yes, Derek had noticed, but honestly the wolf in him kind of likes it when strangers look at him in abject fear, so he really didn’t think that hard on it.

The police cruiser parks behind them, yet a couple dozen yards out, a lot further away than Derek would expect. The wolf turns in his seat and gazes apprehensively out the back window. Derek can’t see past the glare on the cruiser’s windshield, and no matter how hard he strains his ears, anything going on inside the vehicle is muffled by all the cars whooshing by. The cop doesn’t get out either and that irks the wolf.

“What are they doing?” Derek questions.

Stiles nonchalantly shrugs. “Probably checking your plates or something.” Derek doesn’t think that’s true, but he’s a suspicious and particularly paranoid wolf at the best of times. However, unlike the human beside him, he has instincts and they’re not telling him the cop is back there baking him a cake. They’re telling him to run and never look back. He’s not dumb enough to run from the police, though. Not this time at least.

Over ten minutes go by, and that overwhelming dread is compounded when he realizes traffic is drastically dwindling on both sides of the highway. “Stiles…” Derek worriedly says just as he hears the loud chuf-chuf-chuf of a helicopter’s blades approaching in the distance. Since he sure as hell isn’t sticking his head out the window like a big, fleshy, round target, Derek leans to the side to be able to look up and out his window.

He sees it. He sees the helicopter fly near and hover over them. He’d laugh if he wasn’t almost shitting himself with fear, because he’s doomed.

_Doomed_.

Stiles nervously shoves all the food wrappers to the floor, clearly having lost his appetite. “It’s probably just a coincidence.”

It’s not though, it can’t be, not as the highway clears completely of vehicles. Not as things become eerily quiet just before Derek begins to hear sirens, probably miles away, approaching closer and closer. “Can you hear that?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Hear what?”

“Sirens.”

“I don’t hear anything.” That doesn’t matter because Derek knows he will soon enough.

The wolf can’t even breathe as dozens upon dozens of cop cars, trucks, and SUVs trickle in, surrounding them in every direction, even pulling off road and to the right of them to make sure they’re perfectly encircled.

Stiles glances around, fear growing in him, Derek can smell it. Yet, when Stiles directs that fear at him the wolf feels utterly betrayed. “What did you _do_, Derek?”

Derek’s nostrils flare with anger, face twisting with sorrowful rage. “I’m an alpha werewolf. There’s nothing _they_,” he points out the window, “think I didn’t do,” he fiercely retorts.

Stiles nervously bites his bottom lip and turns his attention outside. “Could it have to do with that guy at the restaurant?”

“No. Cops don’t typically meddle in werewolf business.” Derek’s blood runs cold when he realizes something. “They might if they think a human is in danger.” That’s a big _if_, though. Especially since Stiles is an omega. Stiles is a nobody. Then again, he is a cop’s son. He is, in a way, one of their own.

Stiles shakes his head. “They have no reason to think that.” They have _every_ reason to think that.

When the SWAT team shows up in big black armored trucks, Derek knows he’s well and truly fucked. There’s no denying that he genuinely fears for his life. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t have a clue what to do. The only thought he has in the moment is an entirely useless and completely pathetic one. He has the strongest, neediest, I-want-my-mommy sort of feeling bubble up in him. The only desire he has right this second is to talk to Peter, to hear Peter’s voice, and have the omega tell him it will all be okay, because Peter would know how to fix this.

The SWAT team with their black helmets, and big guns and even bigger shields set up a few yards out and all around his car, the police right behind them. The alpha has never in his life felt so trapped.

“They’re going to kill me,” Derek whispers. He feels like he’s witnessing his own slow demise, because he knows, he can feel it his bones that they’ve all come here hoping for wolf’s blood. He can smell their anxiety, the hope and excitement that lingers heavy and putrid in the air.

Stiles says nothing, because what can he say? He just looks wildly around and Derek thinks he must know, he must feel it too.

The human and wolf crane their necks, looking between their two seats, as they steadily watch as a man with dogged determination pushes his way through the throng of bodies and comes to the forefront of the circle behind Derek’ car. Derek would recognize that sheriff’s uniform anywhere. Although there is only a glimmer of familiarity about the man in general, it’s the beige shirt and dark brown slacks and jacket that he knows belongs to his hometown’s police department, Beacon Hills.

“Oh my god,” Stiles gasps, whipping around in his seat. His butt slips to the end of the seat cushion as he sinks low in it, hiding his face with his palms, cherry red cheeks peeking between splayed fingers. “That’s my dad.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: mucho angst and talking about rape

Ever since Derek can remember there’s been something about humans that intrigues him. His father told him to stay away from them, and for the most part he did. But he liked to watch. Derek’s always been a bit of a lurker.

The thing Derek doesn’t understand about them is how little they care about how physically weak and delicate that are. Derek doesn’t have a clue how they remain so utterly brave despite their own fragile mortality. He thinks that’s part of what drew him to the huntress.

Kate Argent was fire and fury, and Derek knew he shouldn’t, knew that he couldn’t, but one day the woman looked at gullible, lonely, 15-year old him and smiled something brilliant while telling him how handsome he was, how strong and better and _different_ he was than other wolves. So Derek did.

Derek shouldn’t have been lonely. Looking back, he thinks he had no right to be. He had his father, he had his brothers and sisters, he had _pack_, but that doesn’t change the fact that he yearned for something more, something that belonged entirely to him. Maybe that was the alpha in him, or maybe he was just a selfish, entitled boy that was so dumb and so naive he actually thought he could change the ways of a grown ass huntress, and they’d live happily ever after.

Derek was home schooled, though his siblings were not. It wasn’t proper for him to go. It wasn’t right for his father to send his bastard son to school with the rest of his children—it would make a mockery of Talia. However, for the most part Derek’s alpha status protected him from scorn. Of course, asshole kids would say asshole things, and people would often whisper that if he was born from a faggot, he must be one, too.

Kate Argent was undeniable proof, though. Kate was proof that it didn’t matter if pretty boys with pretty smiles caught Derek’s eye from time to time. She was proof that he could ignore those feelings and fall for not just a girl, but a _woman_. Kate Argent made him a real man, but that was only until she made him a fool.

A tutor would visit Derek a few hours a day, otherwise he was pretty much left to his own devices. His father worked and Talia paid him no mind. She was never cruel, but never particularly kind to him either. So, he’d often wander his way into town and simply watch. 

Derek, at this point in his life, had little to no interaction with Peter. The omega was mostly a ghost, a whisper in the house, a creak of a floorboard, a flutter of curtains, rarely seen and never thought of, at least not by Derek.

Peter was soft back then. Slender arms and slender legs, and a pretty, welcoming face. He even had kind eyes that Derek once thought was all lies.

A few years before Kate came into his life, Derek can vividly the remember the day Peter tried to steal him away from his family. He was 12, nearly 13-years-old. Derek was in their home library studying for a test. The house was quiet, the weather drizzly, while the generations old grandfather clock was ticking away, the hour hand seconds away from twelve, while the minute hand was just about on ten.

When Peter grabbed him, Derek screamed so loud his own ears hurt. The little wolf genuinely thought the omega was going to kill him. Derek hadn’t yet come into his strength, and while he was far stronger than the average human child, the omega could still overpower him.

Peter carried him kicking and hollering, claws scratching, fangs biting, and shoved him into one of many of Derek’s father’s vehicles—a silver SUV. Derek felt nothing but hate in his heart as Peter frantically tied his wrists and ankles together and stuck tape over his mouth while babbling nonsense about loving him, loving him so damn much. Peter said he was doing this for them. He said he wanted to be a family, and that Derek would understand one day, he promised he would understand.

This would be the first time Derek ever laid eyes on Noah Stilinski. They were pulled over somewhere off the main road out of town when Derek heard the crunch of tires over gravel. Peter told him he’d be right back, and then a few moments later the Deputy was peeking in through the back window only to see the little alpha tied up, red eyed, and laid out across the seat.

Derek screamed the best he could with tape over his mouth and around his head, keeping it firmly in place. He kicked his feet as hard as he could, obliterating the plastic arm rest but doing nothing to budge the metal door.

With wide startled eyes, the cop tears his face away from the glass. “Petey, what the fuck?” Derek hears him exclaim.

“You said you could help us.”

“I said I could help _you_! For Christ sake, this is kidnapping. Do you know how much trouble you could get in if Nathaniel were to report this? Hell, I’d be even more worried if he _didn’t_ report this. You can’t take an alpha’s kid…”

“He’s _my_ son, too.”

The cop sighs, Derek listening intently as gravel scrapes together under his boots as he presumably leans his weight from foot to foot. “I want to help, Pete. I do…”

“I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Take the kid back and come stay with Claudia and I. I’ve got a trunk full of wolfsbane bullets and I’m more than happy to put a few in that alpha of yours. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he stays away from you for good.”

“He won’t,” Peter says with certainty. There’s a flutter of fabric, maybe Peter points somewhere or shows the deputy something, Derek has never been certain, but it causes Noah to suck in a deep breath.

“Does he know?”

“Nathaniel knows.”

“How far—”

“It’s early still, but he doesn’t want it.”

“Peter…”

“Can you help us or not?”

There’s rustling, a creak of what Derek can only deduce now as an old leather wallet opening, then the fluttering of paper bills. “Take the money. Go south, it’s warmer if you can’t find a place to stay. If Nathanial makes a report, I tell him I saw you go the opposite direction.”

Gravel crunches under two pair of shoes and the deputy knocks on the window, getting Derek’s attention. “Listen to your mom, kid.”

Derek doesn’t listen. That night Peter unties him in a motel room after Derek makes all sorts of false promises to behave. The second Peter turns back the little alpha is on him, arm around his throat and he squeezes, legs wrapped strongly around Peter’s middle. He squeezes so hard he’s scared he might actually crush the omega’s neck, a part of him wants to. After all, it would serve him right for trying to take Derek away from his dad.

Peter flails, claws tearing at Derek’s arms in a panic-stricken daze. With stumbling steps, he crashes Derek’s back into the wall, knocking down pictures and smashing a lamp. His face turns a hideous shade of purple as he drops to his knees, mouth wide and gasping uselessly for air.

Derek only lets go when Peter is limp with his face smushed into the dirty carpet, his heartbeat turning faint and beginning to stutter. The little alpha goes straight to the phone and calls his father.

Derek doesn’t know much of what happens to Peter after that. He knows he gets sent to Eichen house. He knows Peter doesn’t come back until shortly after Derek's fifteenth birthday, which was two years later and a mere few months before their whole world got burned away.

Peter barely even looked at him when he returned. Derek used think it was because the omega didn’t dare. Now Derek thinks it’s because Peter couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear to look at the son that betrayed him so viciously.

The night his family dies, Kate texts him. She wants to meet in the woods and he’s all too eager. When the house is quiet and everyone is asleep, Derek sneaks out of his window and leaps to the ground two stories below. There’s a prickle on the back of his neck, the telltale sign of someone watching. When he looks back at the house, he sees the omega on the porch, his piercing golden gaze staring after him.

“She’s using you,” Peter calls out to him.

“Go to hell.” Shortly thereafter, Peter does.

Derek waits for the huntress in the woods until he smells smoke and hears the whisper of screams far in the distance. It isn’t long until sirens are blaring.

What he sees when he returns is his family home engulfed in flames, firefighters working tirelessly to settle the inferno. Kate stands at the forefront of it all, the blaze’s light glowing around her like the devil’s halo. Even then Derek doesn’t see the forest for the trees.

A few of the firefighters—two of them wolves themselves—hold him back as he makes a break for the house, every instinct screaming at him to get in there and get them out. They don’t let him. They pin him to the dirt driveway, his families’ screams growing quieter until things are eerily silent save for the crackle of fire and the spray of the house. One by one Derek feels the bonds snuffed out until there is no one left but Peter.

The place is swarming with cops and what feels like half the town when Kate kneels by his side. He buries his tear-stained face into the crook of her neck and hugs her tight. She doesn’t lay a hand on him. “I couldn’t have done this without you,” she whispers into his ear.

When the fire is out and his home is nothing but smoke and bones, he meets Noah Stilinski for the second time. The deputy straps a respirator mask like device to face. It covers his mouth and nose which forces him to inhale wolfsbane, rendering him weak and unable to shift. The cop places him in cuffs and none too kindly shoves him into the back of a police cruiser

“He couldn’t have done it. There’s no way.” A woman says. Derek can’t see her, she’s outside the room. He’s sitting on a hard seat, but lying with his head on the cold steel table in an interrogation room. The wolfsbane makes him feel too sick and tired to hold his head up. His arms are limp, though still uncomfortably cuffed behind his back, and his legs are tingly in the most grotesque way. The wolf in him whines a sad song for its dead family.

“Plenty of alphas have done worse,” the deputy replies.

“He’s a _child _for Heaven’s sake.”

“I know exactly _what_ he is, Claudia.”

“He’s Petey’s _son_. He’d want us to take care of him until he’s healed.”

Stilinski inhales a deep but stuttered breath. “There’s a good chance Peter isn’t going to heal.”

There’s silence for a moment or two before the woman determinedly says, “then Derek needs us.”

“No,” the deputy resolutely states. “_Our_ boy needs us. Derek is exactly the sort of thing we’re going to spend the rest of our lives protecting him from.”

The woman sighs, clothes fluttering, shoes scuffing against the floor. “I just… I have this feeling that we should help him.”

“The best thing we can do for Hale is keep him the hell away from our son so neither of them become a statistic.”

“What if we could break the cycle?”

“What if we can’t?” the deputy counters. “What if he hurts our mischief?”

The woman defeatedly exhales. “I feel so bad for him. Don’t you?”

“I console myself with the fact that he’s a _werewolf_.”

“So is Petey.”

“Pete’s different,” the deputy says, voice becoming muffled as the pair of humans move away from the door and further into the station. “I warned him. The day he met Nathaniel, I fucking warned him.”

“I know, we all did.”

Derek shows the police the text messages between he and Kate. They’re pretty damning, but don’t prove she started the fire, only that she was sleeping with a minor. The investigating detectives thought it was hilarious. His social worker, on the other hand, did not find it at all amusing and used the word rape. Back then there was a twisted, manipulated part of Derek that wanted to stick up for Kate when the social worker said those things, because Kate couldn’t have possibly have raped him, she wouldn’t, he wanted it, he consented, he _loved_ her. She said she loved him, too.

As an adult, Derek now shudders in disgust at the memory of her touch and the way her whispered words crept like fire ants over his skin and stung like wasps. He feels nauseous when he thinks of her mouth on his, his penis in her...

He desperately wishes he could gouge those memories from his brain because they wreck him, they starve him of happiness. They make him feel small, and stupid, and so fucking used. They make him feel like a thing; a tiny, gross, insignificant, worthless _thing_ that Kate saw as prey. He knows now beyond all doubt that all Kate saw was prey, so she did what she did best. She hunted, and she just so happened to kill _everything _that meant something to Derek.

For the longest time Derek wondered why she didn’t kill him as well. Was it because there was a part of her that loved him? He wanted to believe that, but then time happened and as he matured, the pain lingered, the emptiness lingered. That excruciating gaping hole that his family once filled, it lingered and it festered.

Eventually he came to realize that Kate wanted him to live so he could feel the loss of his pack every single day for the rest of his life, because there is simply no feeling worse than that—not even death. Kate didn’t love him. It wasn’t even hate. It was something so evil, so vile, that Derek doesn’t even have a word for it.

Kate Argent was the first and last person Derek ever had sex with.

Kate was never charged for his family’s murder, of course she wasn’t. Derek doubts the cops ever even tried, doubted they looked further than him. An alpha werewolf was an easy scapegoat and far easier to hate than a pretty, affluent human woman from a well to do family.

They did their absolute best to pin it on him, even after it was suspiciously ruled an electrical issue. Thankfully, he had money that paid for great lawyers, and in the end, he was acquitted. Even after all that was said and done, some people out there still thought maybe he could have done it, that he might’ve. Because who knows, right?

The third time he sees Stilinski, he barely sees him at all. The little wolf is sitting outside Peter’s hospital room. The omega is moaning and groaning in pain and the alpha can’t look at him right now, yet at the same time he can’t leave the hospital without insufferable guilt, so he just sits and stares at the white wall ahead of him and listens to Peter’s frantic heartbeat.

A brunette woman approaches, slowly and carefully, as if she’s scared he might spook and run. She pulls up a chair next to him and sits, the deputy diligently watching from the end of the hall. She smells like vanilla perfume, a happy home, and has the lingering scent of a young prepubescent child on her. It reminds Derek of wild, crazy, full of life things. He hates her for it.

“Hey there, Derek, I’m Claudia,” she tells him, introducing herself. “I used to be a friend of your mom’s. We grew up with him.” She points to the scowling cop. “We both did.”

Derek doesn’t acknowledge her, he keeps looking straight ahead and wishes the floor would open up so the world would eat him whole.

The lady tucks her wavy hair behind her pierced ears—little white diamonds glittering— and scoots a bit closer. “I just wanted to know if you’re okay?”

Derek thickly swallows as he feels heat and pressure behind his eyes. “My whole family is dead.” He doesn’t think he’ll be okay ever again.

“Not your mom.” She says this like it’s some miraculous thing, like she doesn’t have a clue what a curse it actually is. Derek wants to rip her throat out.

Derek turns his head and looks the lady right in her kind hazel eyes. “Fuck Peter,” he hatefully snarls. Claudia jolts at the harshness of his tone and turns her gaze away.

“Let’s go, Claudia,” the deputy calls to her, voice firm.

The lady nods, biting her bottom lip, but she glances back to Derek as she reaches into her purse that she’d had slung over her shoulder. “I’ve contacted a few lawyers,” she pulls out a lined piece of paper, fancy script seen as she unfolds it, “these are the ones that were willing to take on your case, if, well, if you wanted to pursue anything against Kate Argent.” She shoves the paper into Derek’s hands a bit more firmly than necessary, her fingers lingering against his a beat too long to be considered socially acceptable.

“What she did to you… the sexual stuff… you must know it was wrong. You’re a child… she’s an adult. If you want justice, you’re going to have to advocate for yourself, it’s not fair… but I, but I’ll help if you want me to.” Her red painted fingernail grazes over the last number on the page. “That’s my cell. You can call me anytime, day or night.”

Claudia stands, she turns away, though quickly looks back at him, expression conflicted. She reaches out as if to touch him but quickly thinks better of it and wrenches her hand back, shoving it in the pocket of her grey peacoat. “If you need anything, or just want to talk, you can call me anytime. I’m a really good listener.” With that said she bustles away, the deputy throwing an arm protectively around her and stern look the wolf’s way, one that says absolutely do not call.

When they’re gone and Derek no longer hears the clack of her heals against the linoleum floor, he angrily bunches the paper into a little ball and drops it to the ground. He never picks it back up.

Derek wonders what would have happened if he had called that number. He wonders how different things might be. Would Stiles have become something of a little brother to him? Would they have been best friends? When Stiles was of age would it have led to more or would something terrible have happened? Would he have been like his dad and made a Peter out of Stiles?

Derek is currently standing outside his car, his hands raised for all to see, countless guns pointed at him and afraid to make the slightest movement. He has a dozen different people shouting a dozen different orders and he’s afraid because he doesn’t know which one to follow and if he picks the wrong one will they shoot? They’re screaming they’ll shoot.

So, now he meets Noah Stilinski for the fourth time. He looks older than Derek remembers. Hair a little greyer, face a bit more lined, and he appears worried, but mostly tired, so tired, like he hasn’t slept in a few days. His clothes are slightly wrinkled, a mustard stain on one of his pant legs, and his badge sits crooked on his jacket.

Stilinski’s critical gaze searches the wolf and Derek can’t imagine what the sheriff must see when he looks at him, soiled in dried, crusty blood while his irises glow menacingly red. The sheriff unholsters his gun and with a steady hand, he aims it at the wolf. Derek figures it’s safe to say that papa Stilinski does not approve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't clear I've named Derek's dad Nathaniel since i can't keep calling him Derek's dad whenever I refer to him lol. I did a lot of googling but couldn't find any reference to Derek's dad's name from the show.


	25. Chapter 25

Peter would scream the loudest when nurses changed his dressings and scrubbed his wounds. Derek only watched the first time. Every time after he’d wander down winding hallways to a few seats near a vending machine. He’d sit, hands over his ears because Peter’s wails were still easily heard, and he’d pray. He’d pray so hard that Peter would either shut up or die.

It was during one of these times that Derek met Claudia for the second and last time. She was alone, plaid wool scarf around her neck and bright red lipstick painting her plush lips. She carries a small envelope in her delicate hand, the kind of envelope that might have once had a birthday card in it.

She sits beside him and says nothing for a long, uncomfortable moment. “I wanted you to have this,” she softly tells him, lifting the flap on the envelope and sliding a picture out. She hands it to Derek. “I took it when you were only a couple hours old.”

The little wolf takes the picture, each hand gently grasping either side of it. It’s Peter sitting in a hospital bed in a room much like the one he’s in currently. Except this version of him is younger and smiling, eyes tired but bright, and holding a bundled-up baby. In the picture Derek’s tiny face is pink and scrunched, not possibly cute to anybody but his parents. He runs his thumb over the image of his black hair sticking this way and that. It looks ridiculous, and he thinks he’s had his father’s hair since day one.

“Peter was so proud that day. Your mom loved you long before you were even born.”

With a sneer twisting his lips, Derek looks to the woman. “Omegas don’t feel love,” he says, causing the Claudia’s sweet reminiscent smile to fall right off.

“My son, he’s 8…” she pauses as she thinks for a second or two, “he’s like Peter, but human. He loves red popsicles, playing outside in the rain, and riding in his dad’s cruiser. I know for a fact that he loves me, too. A mother can sense these things.”

“You’re not his mother.” Derek doesn’t know why he ever said that, it’s certainly wasn’t to be cruel, at least not entirely. Maybe a little bit, if he’s being completely honest. Nevertheless, Derek can tell by the lingering scent of young boy all over her that the two are familial, but not by any means blood related. There’s an undertone, a matching richness to families that Claudia doesn’t share with that child. Derek, however, does shares it with Peter.

Derek can’t handle the look of hurt on her face despite a broken, pained, evil little thing in him wanting to have put it there in the first place. So, he cowardly glances away as he hands the picture back.

“You can keep it.”

Claudia carefully slides the picture into the envelope. “It’s not mine to keep,” she tells him, placing it on his lap, right near the edge where thigh meets knee.

“I don’t want it.”

She shakes her head and gives him a sad, ‘you poor thing’ sort of smile. “In the future you might.”

“I won’t,” Derek stubbornly insists.

“One day it might be all you have left of Peter. One day you might wonder where or who you came from. You’ll be able to look at this,” she says tapping the paper, “and while it might not answer all your questions, you can at least know with certainty that you came from a mother that loved you so fiercely he’d sacrifice just about everything to give you the life he thought was best for you.”

Derek frowns down at the envelope, but lifts it and tucks it into the inner pocket of his father’s leather jacket that hangs loosely and just about three sizes two big on him. He didn’t know it then, but even though Peter would live, that picture would never stop haunting him. Even so, he wishes he could thank Claudia for it.

#

The police wrestle with Stiles’ legs as he clambers over the center console. They shout that he’s safe and they’re here to help, but Stiles kicks wildly at them and drags himself over to the driver’s seat. The omega slams the door open and falls unceremoniously to heap on the ground by Derek’s feet.

Stiles frantically latches onto Derek’s pant leg and pulls himself up and onto two wobbly feet. The wolf doesn’t dare move a muscle; he doesn’t even turn his gaze towards the human. He’s hyper focused on the dozens of people with guns pointed at him.

“Dad!” Stiles bellows, heartbeat going a mile a minute as he throws himself in front of Derek. The sheriff instantly lowers his gun in response. “What the hell?!” he exclaims, eyes glancing wildly around. “Oh my god, dad! You’re so dramatic!”

“Step away from the werewolf, son,” Noah tersely demands, worried frown lines creasing the corners of his mouth. “He’s dangerous.”

Stiles plants his legs firmly, shaking his head, eyes wide and cheeks a flaming red. “No! Dad! This is so embarrassing!” Stiles reaches out to Derek, pulling him protectively to him, wrapping an arm around one of the wolf’s and patting his chest like a good dog. “He’s totally harmless.” The sheriff looks anything but convinced as he eyes the alpha up and down.

“That ain’t ketchup he’s covered in,” Stilinski remarks.

The wolf swallows uncomfortably, little beads of anxious sweat gathering on his brow. Stiles’ grip on Derek becomes painfully tight. “No, but it _is_ the blood of an enemy. It was in my honor. My _honor_, dad. You’d totally approve of the maiming that took place.” Derek sucks in a deep breath, looks to the bright blue sky and prays.

“Maiming?!”

“Only a little,” Stiles quickly states, “and the guy totally deserved it… because it was in my _honor_.”

“Jesus Christ, Stiles,” the sheriff angrily huffs, holstering his gun. “I have surveillance video of you being snatched outside your work by someone… then I saw you on TV, but you weren’t answering your phone, I thought—"

Stiles eyebrows raise. “Derek would never.” Well, he might, because he did, sort of, at least a little, but not specifically the snatching part. He did lure an unwitting Stiles into his car, but if anything, that taught the omega, and Derek in particular a valuable lesson: Trust no one. Underestimate _no one_.

“Who did then?”

“It was just a prank,” Stiles quickly lies.

The sheriff looks fifty shades of pissed. “A prank? Is that what all this is? A fucking _prank_?”

Stiles licks his dry lips. “You mean, me and him?” Stiles queries, pointing between himself and the wolf. “We’re a thing.” Stiles begins to lift his left hand and Derek knows what the human is about to do, he just _knows_, because Stiles is stupid, so pretty and so sweet, but _so_ stupid, and Derek just really wishes he wouldn’t, but he does. He lifts his hand and points to the ring and says, “We’re getting married.”

Noah’s hand slaps to his chest, heart skipping a beat while his face takes on a sickly pallor. Derek thinks Stiles just about killed his own father with words alone.

“To hell you are!” Stilinski roars. He moves towards his son, though glances around at the other cops, waving them off. “That’s a wrap. We’re done here. Sorry, boys.”

Throngs of people begin moving like a stormy sea, disappointed whispers follow them and callous words are said under hushed breaths. The wolf hears awful mutterings calling him awful things. He feels worse when they’re directed toward Stiles. His perfect, stupid, innocent, Stiles.

When the sheriff is only but a foot or two away, his enraged eyes fall to the omega. “Why didn’t you answer your damned phone?” his voice is pained, chest heaving likes he’s breathless and his hands trembling at his sides.

Stiles lets go of Derek and hurries over to his dad. They wrap each other in a fierce hug, though over the omega’s shoulder Noah stares coldly at the wolf. Derek wouldn’t go as far as calling it a glare, it’s more of a vicious eyeing. It’s bursting with so much animosity that even the alpha in him shivers uncomfortably under the intense weight of it. He knows without a doubt he’s looking at a father that would kill for his son.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles apologizes, pulling away and looking up at his dad. “I just…” He glances at Derek and smiles a goofy, fond thing that melts Derek’s icy insides—it seems to have the opposite effect on the sheriff. “I knew you wouldn’t approve. I knew you’d try to talk me out of being with him, but…” Stiles comes back to Derek’s side, forcing himself between Derek’s arm and ribs. He latches onto Derek’s middle and since the wolf has nowhere else to put his arm, he gently lowers it over the omega’s shoulder, earning a hell of a scowl from Stiles’ father. “Derek is it for me. He’s the _one_.”

Noah doesn’t miss a beat. “No.”

Stiles makes face, it’s one of stupefied puzzlement. “What do you mean _no_?”

“I mean, _no_. Never in a million years. I wouldn’t let you spend the _afternoon_ with this wolf, let alone _marry_ him. Do you hear me? There’s not a chance in hell. Over my dead body. It’s not gonna happen. Forget about it. Period. End of story. Capisce?”

Stiles blinks, jaw dropping. “But I’m an adult!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Stilinski says. He lurches forward and grabs hold of the front of Stiles’ shirt, pulling him away from the wolf. Derek lets the sheriff do it because that’s Stiles’ dad and that’s not a fight he wants to pick.

The sheriff stiffly grips the back of Stiles’ collar and drags the omega down the bustling highway that’s slowly clearing of police. Stiles protests as Noah manhandles him towards an SUV with Beacon County Sheriff marked on the side. Derek idly trails behind. It feels wrong to just watch his omega go, yet at the same time it’s not like he can do anything about it. He thinks he should say something.

“Wait! Dad! Stop!” Stiles exclaims.

The sheriff does not stop, he shoves Stiles into the side of the vehicle and wrenches the front passenger door open while saying, “Get in the car, Stiles. You’ve lost your damn mind.”

“I love him!” That does nothing to ease the fury on the sheriff’s face. If anything, it intensifies as he scowls in utter outrage at his son.

Noah leans close to Stiles’ face. “You will thank me one day,” he ardently claims, reaching down and tightly gripping Stiles’ left hand, prying the ring from his finger. He shoves his son into the vehicle, taking care that all limbs are inside before he slams the door.

He turns to Derek and walks near. He hands over the ring. Derek takes it because that seems like it’s the only option.

“I remember you,” is all Derek can think to say.

Stilinski deeply frowns. “I remember you, too, Hale. I also remember your father,” he tells Derek matter-of-factly. “My son will _never_ be another Peter. If I ever see you prowling around my kid again, I’m going to take this gun,” he threatens, patting his sidearm, “and blow the brains right from that thick skull of yours.”

“I wouldn’t hurt him… I would never—”

The sheriff raises a hand. “Save it.”

Derek gazes over Noah’s shoulder and looks inside the SUV. Stiles is absolutely devastated, face blotchy and tears streaming down his face faster than he can wipe them away. Derek wants nothing more than to shove past the cop and go to his omega. The wolf in him yearns to comfort his boy, to snuffle into the crook of his neck, and kiss him happy once more. That would only get him a bullet in the back, though.

“Can I at least say goodbye to him?” Derek asks, tone leaning towards pleading.

“Not a chance.”

Derek eyes flick angrily to the sheriff as they glow an enraged crimson. He lets out a frustrated growl, hands curling to fists at his sides.

Noah scoffs, turning his back to the wolf as he heads for the SUV. 

When the human has the door open and one leg inside, Derek’s desperation bubbles over. “He’s special,” he calls out.

Their eyes meet, and Noah curtly nods as he climbs in the rest of the way, saying, “You’re damn right he is.”

The door slams shut and the SUV rumbles to life. And just like that they’re driving away, Stiles giving him a sad, little wave as they go past. Derek lifts his own awkward hand in return.

Derek makes his way back to his car, suddenly feeling like he’s missing a piece of himself. When he gets in it smells like cheap greasy fries and his omega. He glances around and there’s only but a phantom of Stiles. His shit is everywhere—his hideous Gucci cardigan is strewn over the back seat. A spare pair of shoes on the floor with his fast food trash. Bits and bobs on the dash. Also, crumbs from his food cover just about every surface.

Derek sits there for a long time. When all the cops are gone and the roar of traffic returns, Derek can’t help but think his world is way too quiet without Stiles chattering beside him.


	26. Chapter 26

So, Stiles said he loves Derek. That’s a thing. It’s a really big thing. It’s a colossal thing. It’s so monumentally ginormous that it overwhelms Derek’s tiny little wolf brain and just about explodes it. Stiles also said Derek’s the one. _The_ _one_.

“He’s known you for five whole minutes. He doesn’t love you. He loves the _idea_ of you,” Peter explains.

They’re south of Sacramento sitting under the shade of an old oak tree, a large body of water a small grassy field away. Cranes meander near the shore on their long, stilted legs while ducks paddle around in deeper waters. Derek lavishes in all the scents and sounds, but he can’t help but wish Stiles was here to enjoy it with him. They’ve only been apart for barely 24 hours, but the wolf sure does miss his omega.

Peter’s brought a picnic basket, red checkered blanket and all. It’s weird and intimate, and not the sort of thing they do. Peter makes great sandwiches, though. So that has Derek thinking twice about questioning the situation. Plus, Peter also brought homemade doughnuts, some of which even have rainbow sprinkles on them. When the omega finds not only the time, but a place to make doughnuts, Derek doesn’t know. Maybe it’s a mom thing.

Derek reaches for a chocolate one, though Peter annoyingly swats his hand away and says, “Eat some veggies first.”

Derek glowers at the wolf, but does as he’s told. He begrudgingly grabs a piece of broccoli from the platter and dips it in ranch dressing. He swirls it around, making sure there’s more dressing than vegetable, and eats it in one bite.

Peter is hardly impressed but thankfully doesn’t push the matter. “Anyways, Stiles has grown up in world being told countless stories of evil, dangerous alphas and how all a werewolf could ever see him as is an object, a _thing._ He knows you’re exactly what he can’t, and will never have. He knows he should stay away. Yet, you seem interested. You’re handsome, you have money, and you’re the biggest, baddest, _alpha_ werewolf he ever did meet. It’s no wonder he thinks he’s in love with you.”

Derek takes a bite of doughnut. It has almonds, peanuts, _and_ sprinkles over chocolate icing. It’s heaven in his mouth. “Or maybe he loves me for my personality.”

Peter looks at Derek like he wants to strangle the stupid right from him. “Your personality doesn’t exactly inspire warm and fuzzy feelings in people.”

Derek eats the rest of the doughnut, licking his lips and swallowing before talking. “Stiles is different.”

Peter snorts with a roll of his eyes. “I guarantee you that Stiles is just like every other young, desperate omega that ever was and ever will be. You’re an opportunity. You’re a meal ticket, Derek. A good looking, _gullible_, meal ticket.”

A rumbling growl emanates from the wolf, eyes red and intently on Peter. Derek refuses to believe that. “Is that how you ended up pregnant with me? You were desperate to keep dad because he was your meal ticket?”

Peter jerks at that and his heavy, scrutinizing gaze glows gold. “You were not planned for nefarious reasons or otherwise. You were an accident.” Derek frowns. “Don’t be dumb and confuse that for a mistake.”

Derek struggles to maintain eye contact, the omega across from him not even blinking as he fiercely stares the alpha down. Seconds feel like eons and Derek folds, turning his vision to the water ahead of them.

“Stiles wouldn’t use me. I don’t even think he has something like that in him. He’s genuine.” At least Derek hopes so. He desperately wants him to be. It would break his heart if he wasn’t.

“Well, whatever the case may be, I hope you didn’t rely on the pull-out method,” Peter nonchalantly comments. “That’s what your father did. Luckily for you, he had piss poor timing.”

Derek just about chokes on his own tongue. He swivels his head—eyes wide—and gazes in disturbed wonder at the other wolf. What the fuck is wrong with the omegas in his life?

“Fortunately, the pup would be pack. You’d feel a bond stronger than anything you’ve ever felt. It would form before your puppy was even born. So, Stiles has very little rights in comparison to you. You make every choice, whether he keeps it or not, and everything that comes after. You’re the alpha. You’ll always be the alpha. You get to make the tough decisions.”

“I know.”

Derek can’t pinpoint what exactly, but something about Peter’s demeanor darkens. “Do you also know the absolute cruelest thing you could ever possibly do is take an omega’s puppy away from him?”

Derek deeply frowns. “Stiles and I haven't, _you_ _know_… and even if we had and he got—I just, I wouldn’t.” Derek swallows, throat feeling uncomfortably thick. “I don’t know what I’d do, but I wouldn’t do _that_. I promise I wouldn’t be like dad.”

Peter’s eyes narrow, an unhinged, sorrowful little gleam in them. “I got to watch you. I was lucky.” Derek doesn’t know how this statement makes him feel. It isn’t good, he knows that much. Peter was the furthest thing from lucky, and he thinks deep down inside, the omega must know that.

“But didn’t it hurt to watch me grow up and not be a part of it?”

Peter sucks in a deep breath, chest rising, and sighs as his eyes fall to the food around them. He grabs the container with the doughnuts and holds it out to Derek. “Try the powdered one, it’s cream filled.”

“Peter…”

The omega shoves the container at the alpha. “Or try the apple fritter. I’m particularly proud of that one.” Derek bites his bottom lip to stop himself from saying anything. He thinks the lack of answer and the refusal to acknowledge the question is telling enough. Of course, it hurt Peter, how could it not? It must have been torture. Derek can’t imagine. He doesn’t want to imagine.

The wolf diligently does as Peter instructs and takes the apple fritter. It tastes like doughy apple pie and missed opportunities. Would Peter have taught Derek to bake if he’d gotten the chance? Would he now if Derek asked?

When the wolf finishes, he sucks the glaze from his fingers and offers Peter a hint of a smile. “It was amazing.”

Peter smirks proudly. “I know.”

Derek watches as Peter places lids on containers and packs them away in the basket. When the blanket is cleared, the omega shoves the basket aside onto the grass and flops back, hands resting on his belly as he observes the rustling leaves of the oak tree above him.

Derek watches him for a moment or two more, unnerved by the blank expression on Peter’s face. He eventually lies down on the checkered blanket, their shoulders a foot apart.

He closes his eyes and lets his mind wander. It’s no surprise that it goes straight to his absent omega. His pretty, perfect faced boy. The lovely Stiles with his goofy smile and intoxicating kisses. Stiles with his dazzling constellations of freckles and moles, his wild hair that’s soft like silk, and his abhorrently foul mouth.

The wolf wants. The wolf yearns. The wolf pines for him like a starved man for food. He _needs_ his omega. He needs him like he needs his left arm. Sure, he could live without it, but things are always better in pairs. Stiles feels right. Stiles feels natural. Stiles being away from him feels like a piece of him is missing.

Derek questions his sanity, it’s the only logical thing to do.

He opens his eyes, branches swaying hypnotically overhead. “How pathetic do you think I’d be if I confessed to missing Stiles?”

Out of his peripheral vision Derek sees the corners of Peter’s eyes crinkle in a mix between amusement and disgust. “Unfathomably pathetic.”

Derek huffs, his own wicked self-loathing creeping into his mind. “I can’t help but think there’s some fundamental part of me that’s broken.”

Peter turns his head to look at the alpha. “Why? Because you want him?”

Derek meets the other wolf’s gaze. Peter’s expression is an open one, it lacks judgement, and if anything, the crease between his eyebrows might be a sign of concern. So, Derek nods.

“Yeah. I know… I know I shouldn’t want him.” He’s been told all his life just how much he shouldn’t, how stupid he would be for falling for an omega’s charms. “But then I feel guilty because Stiles is just so good.” At least Derek wants to believe he is. “He’s so sweet, and I _swear_ he means well, and fuck…” Emotion bubbles up in him and he presses the heels of his palms to his eyelids. He pushes until it hurts. “I want him so much and I hate myself for it. And it’s fucked because Stiles doesn’t deserve an asshole like that. He deserves someone who’s proud to be with him. I should be proud, but he’s an _omega_ and there’s this piece of shit voice in my head the keeps telling me what a horrible thing that is.”

Derek drops his arms to his sides, red rimmed eyes blinking upwards and at nothing in particular, the world a blur. “I was happy. I was really fuckin’ happy before his dad took him.”

“Take him back.”

Derek huffs out a breath. “It’s not that simple.”

“No, and you’d be an idiot to chase after him, _but_, you’d be an even bigger idiot not to chase after something that makes you happy.” Derek glances to Peter, the wolf looks downright friendly in the daylight despite his usual demeanor. He looks shockingly kind instead of the fierce and somewhat deranged wolf he typically is. 

“What’s stopping you?” Peter questions. “That little voice?”

Derek sits up on the blanket, sighing, feet planted and resting his arms on his knees. Peter follows, sitting up as well, unblinking eyes fully on Derek. “I’ve been given an out. I could just walk away,” Derek tells him. This is what he should do. It would be the smart, level headed thing to. Just walk away. After all, it’s exactly what the sheriff wants.

Derek sighs, embarrassment prickling at his nerves. He feels heat rise in his cheeks. “I also don’t want people thinking I’m some sort of fag.” And that’s the gist of it, isn’t it? It would be easier to pretend that there isn’t a part of him that is attracted to all the little masculine things that make Stiles, Stiles. It would be easier to pretend Stiles never existed than to face the world head on with the omega.

Peter frowns contemplatively. “First of all, everyone and their mother already thinks you’re gay. Secondly, it boggles my mind that alphas even care what others think, but that’s all you guys do. Your father was just the same. God forbid he didn’t have the most money, the prettiest wife in the room, or the biggest family living in the biggest house on the biggest plot of land. He always had to be the definition of what someone else’s best was.” The omega’s gaze turns heated as he eyes the wolf. “Do yourself a big favor and be the alpha you want to be, not the alpha others think you should be.”

Derek shakes his head, grumbling in frustration as he scrubs his hands over his face. “I don’t want to be a gay alpha.”

Peter’s eyes soften and he reaches out, placing a firm hand on Derek’s shoulder and gives it an affectionate squeeze. “I don’t want that either, but that’s the little voice in my head saying it’s a weakness. I’m scared it’ll make you a target of other werewolves and put you in danger. You’re all I’ve got, so that voice wants me to tell you to forget about Stiles.” He gives Derek a bit of a shake. “However, if the road that will lead you to happiness is one that requires you to embrace that part of yourself, so be it.” Peter leans close and pokes the wolf’s chest right where his heart beats healthily beneath. “When in doubt follow this.” Derek doesn’t know if that’s such a good idea.

“And if it leads me to Stiles?”

“If Stiles makes you happy, so be it.”

“He’s not a thing, though. He’s not a toy. He’s more.”

Peter nods along. “If you want to treat him like you would a girlfriend or wife, that’s your business. You’re the alpha, he’s yours to spoil if that’s what you choose to do. Just be _happy_ doing it. Okay?”

Derek nods, a minuscule smile forming on his face. “Okay.”

Peter smiles back and lifts his hand from Derek’s shoulder to his inky black hair. He combs his fingers through it before giving it a bit of a tug. “And if anyone is mean to you for it, let me know. I’ll flay their skin and marinate them in lemon juice.” Derek knows Peter is likely just teasing, but the protectiveness does something to him. It yanks at his feelings and makes the wolf in him whine happily.

Derek scooches as close as he can get to Peter and puts an arm around him, bringing his mom even closer. He presses his cheek to Peter’s and rubs affectionately as a rumbly, possessive little growl escapes him.

Derek’s heart palpitates excitedly when Peter rumbles back and presses against him, pulling the alpha into a hug. “I love you, son,” Peter grumbly mumbles between sharpened teeth. Derek can feel Peter’s claws poking him through the back of his shirt, he revels in it and lets his own wolf loose.

“I love you, too,” Derek growls out, eyes blazing red, and squeezing Peter tighter than he ever has in his life. He doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t ever want to let go, because this is pack, this is family—this is _home_.

Derek closes his eyes and just breathes. He smells the great outdoors and mama.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit nervous with this chapter since I'm introducing a new character. I hope you guys don't mind.

Derek eats dinner alone in a shit motel room. It has a 3.5-star rating and Derek thinks that’s extremely generous. It doesn’t have bed bugs or fleas, but he can smell mold in walls and the stale scent of cigarettes.

While eating dinner he’s tempted to turn on the television. However, he doesn’t think he’s quite ready for that just yet, so he made the mistake of googling himself instead. That somehow seemed safer because surely people aren’t _that_ interested him. Well as it turns out, _they_ _are_. They really, truly, terrifyingly are.

He quickly skims past bold headlines with his name in them, hands anxiously shaking, and taps a direct link to a video of him. He watches himself rip that waiter prick’s throat out just about a dozen times. He doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know how to feel. He might actually be numb. It’s only a few thousand views short of a million which Derek finds outstandingly horrifying. He purposefully does _not_ read the comments.

Following that he topples down the YouTube rabbit hole where one click leads to another. He watches Stiles get rescued from that motel window, and then proceeds to watch the proposal from a dozen different angles. There’s even an aerial view of him being nearly gunned down by Stiles’ dad on the highway.

There’s one, however, that Derek’s finds himself kind of liking. He and Stiles are drunkenly wrestling outside that diner turned pub, completely oblivious to the fact people watching. They look happy, which makes Derek happy. Although, the mood is promptly ruined when he clicks the next video. It’s with Peter, Derek flopping from his car looking like a rabid cat just attacked him. Derek doesn’t let his mind wander to the reasons _why_ Peter flipped his lid. That’s a problem for another day.

Eventually, at some point, he stumbles upon a different video without him in it, titled: **Alpha** **Derek Hale please watch**

He talks himself out of watching it multiple times over the course of an hour or so. A part of him is worried it’ll be some awful person saying awful things, and truthfully, Derek’s not quite strong enough to make like Taylor Swift and shake it off. _But_, when it’s dark, and he’s bored, and curiosity gets the better of him, he lies in bed, propped up on a few pillows and taps the link.

It was uploaded today and has under 200 views. The thumbnail is just a black image with Derek’s name over top. He presses the big red play button and a young man from the chest up is shown. And, although he’s a bit grainy from the dim lighting he has going on, it does nothing to detract from his good looks. He’s handsome in a rather traditional sense. Neatly cropped blond hair that’s faded on the sides, blue eyes, the strongest of jawlines, and full petal pink lips—the bottom of which is busted. He also has one hell of a shiner, too.

The guy sits stiffly on a wooden chair, it squeaks when he moves. He tugs at the front of his maroon shirt as his discomfort seemingly builds. Thick lashes frame almond shaped eyes, they look directly into the camera as he clears his throat.

“Derek… Derek Hale… I’m Jackson Whittemore. I don’t know what the odds of you actually watching this are. This is a longshot…” The guy sucks in a deep breath, “If you haven’t already guessed it, I’m a carrier,” he pauses for moment, anxiously darting a pink tongue out to lick dry lips, carefully avoiding the split part. “Or an omega, that’s what wolves call it, right?” He stops again, moving awkwardly in his seat like he doesn’t quite know what to do with his body.

“I’m desperate. It’s hard for me to say that, but I’m really fucking desperate, man. But you get it, right? The struggle. You understand me? You must, you’re marrying Stilinski of all people,” there’s a flicker of something on his face, a flicker of something like disapproval. “Stiles knows me. He can vouch for me if you think I’m fake or something.” Again, he pauses. This time he grabs a plastic water bottle from out of frame, probably more for distraction than because of thirst. It’s the kind of water bottle that cricks and crackles with the lightest touch.

A strong masculine hand is seen curled around the plastic, knuckles bruised and scabbed over. His Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks. When he’s done, he sets the water bottle back off screen and pleadingly looks to the camera. “Derek… I don’t… I just… Shit…” He glances away, jaw tensing as he leans back in his creaky chair with a huff of breath, crossing his arms, wincing. His drops his arms and they dangle at his sides inelegantly before he leans back towards the camera, elbows on the desk or table in front of him. Even though the video is dim and grainy, Derek can see the emotion swell in his eyes as he stares pitifully into the camera.

“I need your help, Derek. I feel like this isn’t how shit is supposed to be, you know? I’m worth something, but you know that, right? You believe that? I’m worth a lot. I know it. I _feel_ it. I’m meant to be more than this—an _omega_,” he hisses that last word with nothing but derision in his voice. “I could be something great if someone just gave me a chance to prove it. All I need is a chance. Give me the bite and I’ll prove it to you. You won’t regret it. I promise.”

The chair creaks as he stands, he lifts his shirt to show his belly to the camera. It’s mottled in red and purple bruises. He slowly spins to show his back which doesn’t look any better.

When he sits back down he looks almost absolutely miserable as he brushes away the beginnings of tears with the cuff of his sleeve. “I need you. I’m fucking begging you, man. Help me help myself. We could be brothers.” His jaw tenses once more, eyes wandering off. “I’ve never had a brother before. I don’t have anybody.” Determined, stubborn eyes flick to the camera. “I could be all yours, alpha.”

The screen fades to black when the video ends, and Derek is left reeling. The last thing the omega said appeals to every animal, wolf brained part of him. He knows that was the point. He knows it beyond all doubt. Yet, here is, heart racing while the wolf in him howls for what could be his. Derek doesn’t know what kind man that makes him. He also thinks whatever he just watched might’ve left him with a worse feeling than if the video had been some psycho barraging him with insults.

There’s forty or so comments. So, to distract himself from no good, possessive thoughts he scrolls through them, reading them all. The vast majority are calling the guy a faggot in varying, albeit uncreative ways. A few even tell him to kill himself. Yet, like little diamonds in the rough, there’s a few kind ones—ones that wish him the best and to keep his head up, and that, yes, he is worth something. Some even say they hope his message reaches Derek.

Once he’s read them all he scrolls back up and clicks the bio. The only thing there is a phone number with a Beacon Hills area code. Derek wonders if people are sending him hate that way, too. Probably. He’d be more surprised if they weren’t.

It’s late, but it’s not that late. It’s just after 11pm, so he presses the share button and sends it to Peter because he needs a voice of reason. When Peter became that person in his life he honestly doesn’t know. The fact that Peter is that person in anybody’s life is actually kind of horrifying.

‘_Watch this and tell me what you think,_’ Derek texts.

About ten minutes later Peter texts back, ‘_I think you’ve got enough omegas to deal with already. Two’s company. Three’s a crowd. You’d be a laughingstock. You need betas. They’ll make you strong._’ Derek considers what Peter says. He reads its multiple times and it both irks and confuses him. It also makes him feel a bit defensive.

‘_I thought I wasn’t supposed to care what other people think_._ Wasn’t that the whole point of our conversation earlier?_’

Peter sends him an eye rolling emoji followed by, ‘_You didn’t ask for me to say what you wanted to hear, you asked for my opinion. Take it or leave it._’ Well, Derek can’t really argue with that, can he?

Another message pops up from Peter, ‘_For what it’s worth, I think it’s particularly stupid to fool around with two omegas at once._’ Derek vomits a little in his mouth, because no. Fuck no.

‘_Wtf, Peter? He said he wanted to be brothers._’

Derek almost instantly gets a text back. ‘_Don’t be naïve. He doesn’t want a brother. He wants what he thinks Stiles has._’ The wolf considers this. It’s possible. It’s probable. It’s highly likely.

‘_He’s hurt._’ And hurting, Derek thinks. What if the omega just wants an alpha to look out for him in world that doesn't give two shits about him?

‘_Every omega is in some way or another_.’ That doesn’t make Derek feel better at all.

‘_I should help him_.’

‘_He’s none of your business._’

‘_I could save him_.’ He could do exactly what the omega wants. Give him the bite, make him strong, and help him help himself.

‘_Is that what you want, son? To be his savior?_’ Derek wrinkles his nose and furrows his brow as he ponders this.

He exits the conversation and returns to the video of the omega. He taps the play button and lets the wolf in him observe uninterrupted. He lets himself just feel, and what he feels is deep intrinsic need that screams _want_. The wolf in him wants and he wants and he wants. Yet, it’s not the same as with Stiles, not nearly. That’s an adoring, libidinous want that travels deep between his heart and his groin.

This new omega—Jackson he said his name was—makes him yearn for brotherhood, for pack and cold nights, crackling campfires, junk food, comic books, and horror movies at dusk. He wants his warm body for cuddles, snuffling scenting noses, and the tickle of hair on his face. More importantly, he wants someone to howl at the moon with.

Derek swipes to Peter’s conversation. ‘_A big brother would help him. Protect him_.’ Derek texts.

Peter responds a few moments later. ‘_You’d be his alpha, not his brother_.’

‘_Maybe I could be both_.’

‘_You’d be an idiot to try_.’ He would, wouldn’t he? But Derek is just about the dumbest thing ever, plus in the wise words of Peter himself, he’d be an idiot to not go after something that could make him happy, right?

His nerves are on edge and the fluttering of butterflies can be felt in his belly as he adds Jackson’s number to his contacts. The wolf in him is frantic energy, prancing excitedly and nipping at the forefront of his mind. He wants to play and chase and be chased. He wants to run through the woods on dark stormy nights and hunt and eat and howl all with a brother in tow. He wants it all. He desperately wants to give the bite.

Derek types out a message to Jackson about thirty dozen times and erases every single one of them. He wants to start with honesty, but not too much in case that scares Jackson away. He wants to say he doesn’t know or understand or get anything about omegas, but he wants to. He wants to say that he’ll protect Jackson from now on, but that seems corny. The wolf in him wants to ask who hurt Jackson and where he can he find them, but he doesn’t say that either.

It’s shortly past midnight when the phone on the nightstand jolts him as it rings sudden a shrill. He drops his cell by his thigh onto a floral blanket as he turns and scowls suspiciously at the phone, because that’s new. Of all the countless times he’s stayed at a motel, the phone has never rung.

He hesitantly reaches out, picking up the curly corded receiver and presses it to his ear. He hears nothing but the slightest sound of static.

“Hello?” Derek answers.

“You haven’t forgotten about me, have you?” The wolf’s eyes just about burst from his skull in utmost surprise as he grins wildly—he’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“_Stiles_,” he happily rumbles, irises a fiery red, claws suddenly sharp and long. “How’d you find me?”

“Time and patience, big guy. You’ll never guess how many motels I’ve called around Modesto and Sacramento looking for you. I wasn’t even sure you’d still be in the area.”

“How many?” Derek has to know.

Derek can hear Stiles shuffling around. He thinks he might be in bed, too. “Approximately 42.” The wolf’s heart stutters. He honestly doesn’t know if that’s really flattering or really creepy. He soothes himself by thinking about how his omega is the prettiest boy there ever was and ever could be.

“Derek?” Stiles utters.

“Yes?”

Stiles clears his throat and Derek listens to more rustling. Derek can clearly picture in his mind’s eye the omega flopping around in bed trying to get comfy while anxiously biting at his lips and fiddling with anything his hands can touch. “You’re not going to listen to my dad and stay away, are you?”

“Do you want me to?” Derek asks despite knowing very well what the answer is.

“What I _want_ is my ring back.”

“Even if it gets me shot?” The wolf teases.

Stiles laughs the most pleasing jingle, and flirtingly retorts, “Wouldn’t I be worth it?”

Derek growls, he can’t help it, the omega breaks his little wolfy brain in the most wonderous ways and it does extravagantly carnal things to him. Since the wolf is dumber than a bag of bricks and whatever’s beyond horny and so undeniably enamored, he admits that, yes, indeed, Stiles is worth it. “I’d get shot a thousand times over if it meant getting you back.”

“_Dude_,” Stiles breathily says, “I want you so badly right now.” Derek doesn’t even know what that means. He knows what he wants it to mean.

“Like… in general… or…?”

The omega snorts with a laugh. “I really want to have sex with you.”

The front of Derek’s sweat pants feel impossibly tight and far too constricting over his crotch. “Me too,” Derek rumbles, fangs poking his lips. “I mean, with you, not me. Not by myself,” he corrects, sort of. “I want us together… doing _that_.” His face flushes and feels way too hot, way too turned on, and _way_ too stupid for his own good.

Stiles laughs. He laughs and he laughs and he laughs, but it’s the merriest of things and Derek adores it. “How are you going to be able to do _that _with me, if you can’t even say what _that_ is?”

“I can say it.” If he tried really hard and turned his brain off the rest of the way, he thinks he could.

“Then tell me. If I was there in that motel room with you right now, what would you want to do?” Stiles questions.

Derek says the first thing that comes to mind. “Kiss you.”

“That’s it?” No, definitely not. Not even close.

“I’d touch you, too,” Derek says.

“Where?” That’s easy.

“Everywhere.”

“Even between my legs?” Stiles incredulously asks.

Derek can’t breathe. “Yes.”

“Would you put your fingers inside me?”

Derek can’t think. “_Yes_.”

“And then what?”

Derek presses the heel of his palm over his pants and to the outline of his cock, he rocks against it. “I’d fuck you.”

“_Derek_,” Stiles breathes.

“Yes?”

“129 Woodbine Lane.” That address sounds familiar but Derek puts literally no thought into it. “Come get me.”

“Okay,” the wolf dumbly agrees. He’s about to hang-up, pack his shit, and do just that. Luckily, Stiles is still capable of forethought.

“Gimme your number. If anything happens, like car trouble or whatever and you don’t show up, I’ll start panicking and assume the worst and think you’re dead or dying in a ditch somewhere.”

So, they exchange numbers and Stiles tells him he should at least sleep first before making the four and bit hour drive north. Derek doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t even consider it. He gets in the Camaro and goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could never keep these two parted for long <3
> 
> As for Jackson, I think he'll be a little different than show since he's an omega and he's pretty much been shit on all his life. I will try to keep him as true to form as possible, though. (no kanima though)


	28. Chapter 28

Derek thinks a lot as he drives, far more than usual and that’s saying something for a chronic over thinker. He thinks, he _knows_, he’s driving toward the land of bad decisions. Stiles is a bad decision. Jackson is a bad decision. Keeping any omega around in general, is a bad fucking decision.

The thing about bad decisions is they often tend to seem like good ideas in the short term. Getting to see Stiles’ ridiculously stupid face seems grand. Getting into Stiles pants, seems grander. Rolling up on Stiles house where the sheriff of Beacon Hills also resides? That would be the epitome of a bad decision. But _sex_. But _Stiles_.

Giving Jackson—a human omega he’s literally never met—the bite? Well, that would be a life altering and an immeasurably bad decision that would also result in a lifetime commitment, something Derek isn’t necessarily ready for. But Pack, but brotherhood.

So, here Derek is, soaring headlong toward all these bad decisions because he’s a weak, _weak_ man driven by want and passion, plus the wolf in him is howling _do it_, _do it_, _do it_. The wolf in him wants to fuck Stiles, and the wolf in him wants to bite Jackson. It really doesn’t get any simpler than basic fleshly desires, does it?

The wolf in him wants what it wants, and it wants so damn badly it hurts. It wants a huge pack. It wants a big family. It wants a dozen puppies and a lifelong companion to raise them with. Derek has denied him for so long, but now the two of them can finally agree on something. For once in their life they see eye to eye. Despite Derek’s better judgement and lack thereof on the wolf’s part, they both really, _really_ like omegas. Derek thinks it might actually be some sort of curse. The wolf thinks it’s a blessing.

Derek is hard pressed to disagree when Stiles comes barreling down his porch steps like a drunken tornado, albeit an outstandingly beautiful one. Derek wonders how on God’s green earth did the stars align just right to allow him to meet such a curious creature. Then again, maybe it had a little less to do with God and stars, and more to do with Peter meddling. The reason for which Derek isn’t quite sure he ever wants to know since it’ll probably just piss him off.

It’s still dark and just about 6am as Stiles hurryingly makes his way to Derek’s Camaro idling across the street. The omega lives in an unassuming house in an unassuming neighborhood. There are flowers in the garden, a tricycle on the neighbor’s lawn, and chalk coloring the street. Unfortunately, there’s also the sheriff’s cruiser in the driveway. It reminds Derek just how utterly stupid he really is.

His innate stupidity it abruptly forgotten when Stiles slides into the car. Their eyes meet, the omega’s wide and excited. He’s a bundle of nervous energy and looking downright adorable with his messy bed hair, wearing flannel pajama pants, and wrinkly t-shirt with a grey hoodie over top.

Stiles grins like the sweetest, prettiest idiot and that makes Derek feel like he can breathe again. Like somehow, someway, the whole time he was without Stiles he was holding his breath and he never even knew it. Derek sucks in a lungful of air and he’s bombarded with everything Stiles. _Stiles_, _Stiles_, _Stiles_. The wolf in him wants to roll in it, collect it for himself and live in it.

A growl rips through Derek as his upper half surges over the center console, Stiles meeping in surprise as Derek fiercely grabs hold, wrapping his arms snugly around the human. He nuzzles his cheek into Stiles’ hair, taking some of Stiles scent for himself and leaving a bunch of his own in return.

“I missed you,” Derek rumbles. God, did he ever miss him.

The sound Stiles makes can only described as a giggle. It makes the wolf’s itty-bitty heart swell. “I missed you _more_,” Stiles says, arching back to look at Derek’s face.

He’s wolfed out, irises glowing an exuberant crimson. Stiles gives him a brilliant smile as he lifts a hand, tugging gently at one of Derek’s pointed ears. “And I missed you, too, puppy,” Stiles fondly muses, directing it towards the wolf in him. Derek happily rumbles, clawed hands slipping to Stiles’ sides and giving them a light squeeze.

With nothing but sincere adoration in his eyes, Stiles smooths a hand over Derek’s scruffy cheek and runs a soft thumb over his heavy brow. He bites his bottom lip as his gaze drops to Derek’s mouth. The wolf takes that as his cue and leans forward to steal a kiss. It’s slow and gentle, and a little awkward with fangs, but judging purely based on the blissed-out little smirk on Stiles face as they part, he thinks the omega doesn’t mind.

Stiles blinks a tired, happy, lovestruck thing and holds out his left hand. “Ring, please.”

Derek snorts amusedly at that, but doesn’t dignify it with an answer. He does, however, force his features to fade back to human so he can give his boy a proper kiss. When Derek leans forward once more, pressing his lips to Stiles’, the human doesn’t complain. In fact, he does the complete opposite. He eagerly deepens the kiss, tongue teasing, while moaning a delighted little noise that goes straight to Derek’s cock.

The moment is abruptly ruined by the sheriff banging open the front door to the Stilinski household, roaring, “_Stiles_!”

For a second or two, the omega freezes in Derek’s embrace, then rears back wide eyed and starts shoving at Derek’s shoulder. “Drive! Seriously, drive! Go!”

Noah, with his hair all askew, wearing only boxers and his rumpled, unbuttoned uniform shirt, sprints down the porch steps barefooted and gun in hand. “Stiles get back here!” he thunders, expression beyond furious, beyond worried. It’s a mix of devastation and betrayal, and ‘how did I raise someone so fucking brainless?’ “I swear to God, Stiles!”

Derek throws the Camaro into to gear and with tires squealing, he peels away from the curb. Stiles frowning anxiously beside him as the omega cranes his neck to look out the back window. Derek flicks his eyes to the rear view mirror and sees the sheriff standing helplessly in the middle of the road, arms out, stupefied, and looking like he doesn’t have a clue how the hell all this just happened.

“Oh god,” Stiles mutters, doing up his seat belt, “I’m the actual worst.” He tugs his phone from his pocket, using his thumb to unlock it. He briefly glances to Derek. “I’m going to tell him I’ll be home in a few hours. We don’t need a repeat of the other day. You’re willing to stay in Beacon Hills for a while, right?” Derek really doesn’t want to.

“How long are you thinking?” Derek asks.

Stiles shrugs, biting his bottom lip. He scrolls through his texts and opens the ones belonging to Noah. “My dad needs to get to know you. I want to set up a dinner or lunch or something.” Honestly, _honestly_, Derek would rather turn the car around and have the sheriff shoot him point blank in the face. That would save everyone the time and trouble.

Derek glances away from the road, looking intently at the delusional human. “Stiles, your dad is not going to sit down and have soup and sandwiches with me. He threatened to blow my brains out.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, not bothering to look up from the phone. “He’d say that to any guy he thought was interested in me.”

Derek grits his teeth and sucks in a calming breath. “Stiles, he _hates_ me.” And that’s putting it extraordinarily mildly.

Stiles scrunches his nose, turning his attention to Derek. “I know. It’s going to take time. Like, a lot of time. Maybe you should rent an apartment or something?”

With a huff of breath Derek decidedly ignores the omega because he sure as shit isn’t putting down roots in Beacon Hills. Stiles, never one to be ignored, pulls Derek’s right hand from the steering wheel and brings it to his mouth. He tenderly kisses his knuckles and seductively nips at his fingers—it gets the wolf ridiculously excited and undoubtedly hard in his pants.

Stiles gives him a wickedly charming smile. “Wanna park in the preserve and make out on the backseat like horny teenagers?” There could be an infinite number of worlds and in every single one of them, no matter the circumstances, Derek very much doubts he’d ever be capable of saying no.

So, Derek makes a few turns and soon enough they’re seeing trees.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SOOO sorry for taking forever to update. Some personal stuff is going on in my life that is preventing me from having as much time to write. I write whenever I have spare time and this story still has a long LONG way to go, so don't think it's being abandoned or coming to an end any time soon.

Derek’s never been the sort of wolf to think about sex much. He knows wolves tend to be quite hedonistic, especially alphas, and maybe he would have been if Kate never happened, but she did. So, Derek is the way he is, and while the wolf in him has always wanted, has always desired a lover and yearned for physical touch and especially sex, Derek hasn’t and doesn’t, not typically at least. Not until Stiles.

Losing his virginity to Kate wasn’t how he imagined sex would be. Sex, in Derek’s mind, had always seemed like a such a primal thing. It was something you fell into with abandon, something you couldn’t help but do when touching and kissing someone wasn’t enough. It was something you did when you wanted, perhaps _needed_ to be closer to someone, so close that you practically became one. Sex was supposed to be between two people who adored each other, loved each other, and wanted to express that physically through carnal, heated pleasure. So, yeah, as a teenage boy, Derek wanted that.

He got Kate instead. Sex with Kate was humiliating, though he didn’t know it at the time. It was something she roughly—sometimes painfully—took, even if he said no or stop or not right now. She’d whisper derogatory words in his ear that Derek had mistook for affection. She’d pinch and squeeze and scratch while smiling cruelly and Derek was blind to it all because he was a stupid, _stupid_, desperate boy. Yet, all that stupid desperate boy wanted was to be loved.

Derek thinks he feels love, maybe, at least a little as Stiles kisses him. There’s a hint of it in the air, Derek’s certain. Half certain. Mostly certain. Is he deluding himself again?

They’re parked under tall creaking pine trees that sway in the breeze. It’s still dark but the sun is waking, a hint of day on the rise. They’re in the backseat, windows fogged from their heavy, panting breaths. Stiles is straddling his lap, rolling his hips, eager and hard, and probably wet—Derek would bet on it. Stiles is all over him, wet mouth, and soft, grabby hands. Stiles is everywhere and everything. He’s all Derek can think, all he can see, smell, and taste. His world, in this moment, is all Stiles and the wolf revels in it.

Stiles tugs off his own shirt, and Derek drinks in the sight of him. The omega is glorious in the shadows, he’s all subtle lines and pale glowing skin, and the wolf wants to devour it all. He lurches forward, pressing his face into Stiles’ chest, nipping at a small, rounded peck, kissing and sucking his way to a pebbled nipple. He cups the other because these are the omega’s breasts, these are life giving marvels of nature, and he shouldn’t be looking, shouldn’t be touching, but he is. It’s wrong, and it should be weird, yet it’s so damn good.

Stiles rakes his fingers through Derek’s hair, little pants of breaths coming out as quiet moans. The omega tugs at the strands, forcing Derek’s head up and Stiles is instantly there, lips on lips, tongue teasing, and Derek kisses back with all he has. The wolf’s curious, wandering hands slide lower, fingers grazing over silky skin and come to grip Stiles’ hips.

Derek rumbles out a growl as he breaks free and goes for Stiles’ neck, hands slipping from the omega’s hips to the curve of his ass, easy to gently squeeze over flannel. The omega tilts his head to the side, letting Derek kiss and taste delicate skin, feeling the strong _thump_-_thump _of Stiles’ pulse on his lips. The wolf in him wants to bite, to taste coppery blood on his teeth and mark what’s his.

Instead, Derek buries his face further in the crook of Stiles neck, sucking in a lungful of air through his nose, scenting the human. He smells of excited frazzled nerves, happiness, and like one _very_ horny boy. If the wolf in him could, he’d bathe in the smell of his omega.

Once again, Stiles is tugging at his hair, ever eager, but Derek doesn’t feel the need to complain. He lifts his head and, yes, perfect lips are on his and Derek melts into it, kissing with abandon and just luxuriating in the glory of it all. Soon enough, though, the wolf feels a tickle on his belly, Stiles fingers pulling away the hem of Derek’s shirt and going lower, fiddling with the button of Derek’s jeans. Stiles hesitates there.

Derek pulls back a little ways, meeting the omega’s eyes. “We don’t have to rush,” he tells Stiles. “We can keep doing what we’re doing.” He has literally no problem with that.

Stiles anxiously licks his already spit shined lips. “I want to keep going.”

The wolf in Derek rumbles at that, irises glowing crimson. “You sure?” Because Derek isn’t. He wants to, don’t get him wrong. He just doesn’t have a fucking clue what he’s doing.

Stiles enthusiastically nods, and flops to the left to the empty leather seat beside Derek. He’s quick to kick off his sneakers and tuck his thumbs under the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

He swivels his head and looks to Derek, eyes kind and quizzical. “Do _you_ want to?” The wolf doesn’t even take a moment to think about that answer.

“Yes.” _Yes_, he definitely does. He moves his hands to the front of his pants and tugs the button from the hole. He quickly unzips them, but only gets them halfway down his thighs before Stiles is climbing back onto him, completely, and utterly naked save for a mismatching pair of socks, one slightly further up his shin than the other.

Derek can’t help but ogle the omega. He’s seen nothing like Stiles in his whole entire life and he’s not quite certain how he didn’t die without him, because he’s sure like air and water, he needs this lovely creature for survival.

Stiles flushes under his leering gaze. “Do you like what you see, alpha?” he asks. Like doesn’t even begin to describe how Derek feels. The fact that he’s harder than he’s ever been, tip leaking, and heart thumping a mile a minute, ought to say something about that.

The wolf growls possessively as he reverently presses his warm, rough palms to Stiles’ thighs and smooths them upwards, over pointed hips and to a taut belly with beauty marks galore. Derek’s eyes fall between Stiles’ legs, and at first glance the sight of the omega’s erection intimidates him. He thinks he should hate the sight of it, but he doesn’t. He thinks it should turn his stomach sour, but it doesn’t. In fact, his mouth waters and his fingers twitch as he imagines all the various things he could do to it.

“I want you,” is all Derek can think to say. Stiles must feel the same because he throws himself at Derek, noses bumping and teeth clacking, but the wolf loves it. He loves just how eager his omega is for him because Derek feels just as enthusiastic.

Stiles lips are soft and pliant, hands cradling Derek’s face as if the wolf is something precious. The wolf basks in it, adores it and wants so much more of Stiles’ tender touches, pillowy soft and warming him from the inside out. He presses firmer against Stiles, his own hands slipping from the human’s ribs back down to his bottom, and Derek is tempted, so tempted to explore further, to reach a little and feel if Stiles is as wet as he is hard.

He doesn’t though, not yet, he wouldn’t even know what to do if he went there. He doesn’t know the first thing about pleasing an omega. So, instead, he pulls Stiles into him, cock against cock. Derek shuddering with pleasure as Stiles moans beautifully into the kiss, undulating his hips like he just can’t get enough.

“Oh my god, Derek,” Stiles breathes, the wolf’s name a whisper on his lips.

The omega kisses Derek fiercely while lifting himself up a bit on his knees, one on either side of Derek’s outer thighs. At the same time, he curls a gentle hand around Derek’s length and directs it between his legs. Derek can feel when the head of his cock touches the right spot. It’s warm, so warm, it’s hot, but not scorching, and wet—a smooth slippery glide that Derek instinctively wants to press himself into over and over.

Stiles pauses, breaking the kiss, their eyes meeting. Stiles almost looks shy; he also looks absolutely delectable with pink cheeks and rosy lips. “Do you have a condom?” he asks.

Derek heart sinks and he gives his head a slight shake. “No.”

Stiles make a little noise of frustration. The wolf kisses his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “We can go get some,” Derek suggests.

Stiles seems to consider it. “Do you want to stop?” Derek knows what he should say. He should do the responsible thing. The smart thing.

“No,” he says instead, because the wolf is neither smart, nor responsible.

“Me neither.” Stiles guides Derek back to his entrance. “Just this once, ‘kay?”

The wolf nods. “Okay. Should I… Do I—” Derek struggles to find the right words. “Do you need warming up first? I don’t want to hurt you.”

Stiles gives him a small, sheepish smile. “I did a bit before you picked me up. You know, just in case.” Derek doesn’t know what to make of that, but the wolf in him sure likes the imagery that springs to mind. “Just… just be gentle, alright?”

Derek brings his hands to Stiles’ waist and carefully holds there. “I promise.”

Stiles does a curt, tiny nod, and then his entrance is putting pressure on the head of Derek’s cock, slowly lowering himself. Derek’s dick is out, alone, until suddenly it pushes past a ring of tight muscle and it’s in, surrounded, squeezed, and Derek is groaning a bitten off thing from the pleasure of it all.

Stiles lowers himself further, eyes clenched shut, face twisted with concentration and something else. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?” Derek questions. That’s the last thing he wants to happen.

“A little,” Stiles admits.

Derek’s grip tightens on Stiles’ waist, halting him from sliding further down. “We can stop.”

Stiles gives his head a shake. “No way,” he mumbles, leaning closer and finding Derek’s mouth with his own. The omega tugs at Derek’s shirt. The wolf takes the hint, parting their kiss only for a moment as he yanks the Henley over his head, dropping it nowhere in particular.

They kiss as Stiles snakes his arms around Derek’s neck, bodies chest to chest and skin to skin. The omega slowly envelopes the wolf, taking Derek inside himself entirely, dropping his head against Derek’s shoulder as the last of the wolf slides in—the omega moaning and clenching. A deep, rumbling growl escapes Derek as everything spikes, his pulse, the pleasure, Stiles’ needy, beautiful scent.

He can hardly think, can hardly breathe with his cock inside something so perfect. The omega is warmth and wetness—a tight smoldering tunnel that engulfs Derek and makes him weak in the most animalistic, yet euphoric way. Everything in him screams at him to hump, to fuck, to come fast and hard.

He doesn’t, no way would he let himself ruin this moment. He hugs his arms protectively around Stiles as the omega adjusts, getting used to the stretch of him. Stiles breathes hot and moist against his neck, whimpering as he attempts to move his hips.

“You’re a lot,” Stiles whispers.

“You’re more,” Derek counters, because Stiles is. He’s so much more. He’s everything and then some and Derek knows, he _knows_ beyond all doubt he’s never letting this omega get away. He’s hooked. He’s addicted, and he doesn’t think he ever wants to quit—doesn’t think he could even if he tried.

Stiles slowly, ever so slowly, begins to move atop the wolf. It’s a teasing subtle grind, but it’s enough to have the blood in Derek’s veins on fire. “Fuck, Stiles,” Derek rumbles, fighting off the wolf inside himself that wants to burst out and take over, “You feel good. You feel _really_ fucking good.”

This is sex, Derek thinks. It’s want and need and bliss all in his cock. It starts at the head, the pleasure there paramount, and it spreads down his shaft and flows deep within him all the way up to his heart and to his mind. It’s a consuming pleasure that goes hand in hand with a overwhelming and overflowing feeling of affection for the omega.

Every touch from Stiles, every exhale of his breath, and every brush of skin on skin makes the pleasure build bigger and better. It honestly makes the wolf a bit worried he’s not going to last, that he’ll come way too soon. 

Derek seeks out Stiles’ lips, kissing him deeply and with fervor. His fingers tangle in Stiles’ hair as he bucks up into him, causing Stiles to moan the sweetest sounds.

“More,” Stiles breathily demands. Derek doesn’t hesitate to give the omega exactly what he wants. He pumps his hips in time with Stiles’, dropping his hands to the round globes of Stiles’ ass to help angle Stiles’ hips, to help Stiles push down, so Derek can push up and deeper into him.

“Holy shit,” Stiles gasps. “Yes, more. Touch me.”

“Where?” Stiles grabs one of his hands, bringing it to his belly and then directing it downward. He curls Derek’s fingers around his length, his hand staying over top of Derek’s, squeezing gently. With each one of Derek’s thrusts into the omega, Stiles fucks into Derek’s palm, and it’s odd, so odd touching a dick that isn’t his own. At the same time, though, it’s hot. It’s beyond hot. Everything about this experience is.

The omega is dripping wet and smooth as silk around Derek’s cock, and the wolf knows he’s just about done, that he can’t take much more of this without exploding because he’s lost, so fucking lost in the labyrinth that is Stiles—every twist and turn is pure sexual euphoria and honestly, Derek doesn’t want to find his way out. Derek didn’t know, he’d never fathomed sex could be like this and he wants to stay lost forever.

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, lips parted, face twisted in unmistakable pleasure. “I’m gonna come,” he warningly moans. His hands reach for the wolf, pulling him into a heated kiss as his movements become erratic and jerky, heart just about beating out of his chest. “Can I come?”

“Oh shit, Stiles,” Derek groans into the kiss. “_Yes_.”

The omega vigorously works his hips, and just like the last time Stiles got off, Derek knows the moment it happens. Stiles’ muscles stiffen, but he keeps working his hips like his life depends on it, hands squeezing Derek’s shoulders, working their way upwards and into the wolf’s hair. Then, he’s coming, moaning the most splendid sound against Derek’s mouth. He spills hot and wet into Derek’s palm while the rest of him clenches and throbs around the wolf’s cock, the sensation beyond extraordinary and just enough to get Derek right where he wants to go.

There’s a moment where Derek thinks he probably shouldn’t ejaculate inside the omega, but by the time that thought has been processed, he’s finishing—one hand grabbing hungrily at Stiles’ ass, pulling the omega harder against him while shoving inside Stiles as far as he can get. All he can feel is Stiles, warm and tight and coming, and Derek wants—_needs_ to come, too.

One, two, three more pumps and his orgasm is ripping through him, pleasure beyond words, beyond anything he’s ever felt before. With crimson eyes Derek ferally growls, struggling to contain his wolf as his cock pulses inside Stiles in the most spectacularly euphoric way.

“_Stiles_,” he blissfully groans, dropping his head to the omega’s shoulder since it suddenly feels far too heavy to hold up. He buries his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck, breathing the human in as his orgasm wanes.

“Holy shit,” Stiles murmurs in awe, wrapping his arms around the wolf’s shoulders, hugging him close. _Yeah_, Derek thinks, _holy_ _shit_.

Derek feels loose limbed and jellylike as he reaches to the side, wiping his hand on his discarded shirt before folding his arms snug around the omega. He keeps his face hidden, nuzzling dazedly while pointedly ignoring the awkward feeling of his dick hitting cool air as it softens and slides from Stiles.

Unsurprisingly, the omega doesn’t let him hide long. Stiles smothers him with kisses and affection. Perfect hands caressing his face, delicate fingers combing through his hair—it’s heaven on earth. The wolf can’t help but think the omega is just about the most darling thing to ever exist.

When their eyes meet the wolf falls into them, and like a raging river he’s swept away. The funny things is, Derek doesn’t think he wants to be rescued. He wants to drown in Stiles. He wants to drown and stay lost forever.

“You’re all mine,” Derek says, mostly thinking out loud, but it’s best Stiles knows it, too. Because, indeed, the omega is his and he doesn’t think he’s the sort to share.

Stiles smiles a tiny, but lovely thing. He brings his hands up, one palm to Derek’s cheek while another traces the shell of Derek’s ear with gentle fingers. “We’re a team, right? A partnership?” Stiles questions, eyes searching Derek’s. “We’re equals?”

The wolf nods, undoubtedly smitten. “We’re anything you want us to be.”

Stiles fiddles with Derek’s hair while pressing little kisses to his jawline, then up further, near his lips but not quite on them—it’s sweet and lulling and makes the wolf sleepy.

“I want us to get married.” Stiles ardently states, which snaps Derek right back to reality awful quick. “I want to get a house near my dad’s. I want a real, actual, white picket fence and pictures of us on a fireplace mantle. I want to work—I want my own business, like a café or something where all of Beacon Hills feels at home, and there’s books there, lots of books. And then, a few years after that, I want a baby, maybe two. Three if the first two are nothing like me.”

“Okay,” Derek says because he’s helpless, utterly fucking helpless. Stiles is looking at him so innocently, so happily and hopefully, and the wolf in him wants to give him all that and the world on a silver platter. He wants to make all of Stiles’ dreams come true.

Stiles delightedly smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with excitement. “Yeah? Would that kinda life make you happy, too?” Derek doesn’t know. The thought of staying in one place, of putting down roots, particularly in Beacon Hills scares him. The thought of babies, his own babies, puts the fear of God into him.

Nevertheless, Derek finds himself nodding. Despite his fear and apprehension, the wolf in him wants. The wolf wants a home and territory. It wants puppies. It especially wants puppies with Stiles.

Stiles’ smile turns into a full-on grin. He slides off Derek’s lap and grabs his pajamas from the floor. He maneuvers his legs into them as Derek tugs up his own pants from around his thighs. After that, Stiles is back in Derek’s personal space, pressing kisses to his lips that Derek has no problem returning.

“Stiles Hale sounds stupid,” The omega mumbles, pulling away, looking for Derek’s opinion.

The wolf ponders this as he slips a hand into the right front pocket of his pants. There are a few coins, a couple gritty bits of lint, and his great grandmother’s engagement ring. “You could hyphenate,” Derek suggests because he’s nothing more than big dumb dog and he’s starting to like this little fantasy Stiles is building.

Stiles’ eyes are full of adoring wonder as Derek takes Stiles’ left hand and carefully slides the ring back into the place. “Stilinski-Hale,” Derek says. He likes the sound of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND that is how babies are made! 
> 
> What did you think? Did I do alright with the sexy stuff? I'm so nervous posting this. I do not feel comfortable writing this stuff at all, but yeah, I'd want to read it soooo. lol
> 
> Also quick question, how do you guys feel about knotting? I've read it a lot in other stories but I don't know how truly necessary it is. If it's something you want to see I can always have Derek do it while shifted.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for taking forever to update. It might take me a little longer to update but I promise I will!!! This story has a long way to go and I plan on completing it. Hope you all stick around for the ride!

Derek should be sleeping. He hasn’t in over 24 hours. He’s gotten as far as getting onto a lumpy motel bed. The room has white walls, shockingly clean carpets, and orange damask bedding that lays rumpled beneath him.

See, the biggest problem with the bed is that it has Stiles on it. Beautiful, distracting, lovely Stiles whose sweet kisses Derek swears breathes bright life right into his soul. The wolf is genuinely concerned that he might never do another productive thing ever again since he could always be making out with his omega instead. Derek doesn’t have a word for what he feels, but there’s something special about being wrapped all around Stiles and just kissing for the sake of it.

Kissing Stiles feels right if he doesn’t think too hard on it—if he doesn’t try to complicate things with dumb negative thoughts. If he ignores the fact that Stiles is an omega, all is right in the world. The wolf in him, though, it doesn’t complicate things. It sees things simply. It doesn’t care that Stiles is an omega. It doesn’t care that Stiles has a dick and people will call him a fag for liking it. The only thing the wolf in Derek cares about is that Stiles is Stiles.

Stiles with his luscious fertile scent. Stiles with his silly smile and affectionate nature. Stiles with his friendly eyes and friendlier touches. Stiles who wants him. Stiles who needs him. Stiles who loves him—the wolf in Derek knows it, feels it, can smell and taste it on the omega’s breath.

Yet, Derek still doubts. He wonders. He has to because what if the wolf is wrong? What if Derek wants this so badly to be real that what he scents in the air, what he feels in his bones, is actually all in his head? What if he’s deluding himself?

Nevertheless, the doubt and niggling suspicion does nothing to stop Derek from reveling in the feeling of Stiles’ fingers carding through his hair. He practically swoons when soft, delicate lips explore his neck as gentle nips of teeth make him shiver in delight. Derek wants this moment to last an eternity. He forever wants Stiles’ perfect mouth on him, wants Stiles breath on his skin and his gentle hands exploring.

Stiles kisses sweet little things against Derek’s jawline. He presses teasing kisses to Derek’s lips that the wolf can’t help but chase. He wants more, but the omega doesn’t allow it and instead gives him a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. Their eyes meet and Derek tries desperately to find something, a hint of what his father said is beneath each and every omega’s pretty surface. A liar, a user, a desperate sad thing that would inevitably be his ruin.

Derek doesn’t see it. He sees none of that. All he sees is glimmering amber eyes, earnest and awestruck. They look alive and jubilant and so full of emotion. Derek feels it wash over him. It’s a mix of everything. Of fear, of love, of wonder and wondering—wondering if this is all too good to be true.

Stiles smiles at him, eyes crinkling in the corners. Derek kisses those crinkles because it’s all he can do. Stiles’ smile widens as he laughs, ducking his face, cheeks warm and rosy.

“You’re so beautiful,” Derek muses. He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, it just kind of happens.

Stiles’ eyes momentarily widen before he faceplants into a pillow to hide his embarrassment. “Don’t be stupid,” Stiles grumbles, voice muffled.

“You really are,” the wolf murmurs, though it seems loud in the quiet motel room.

Stiles peeks up from the pillow. “Yeah?”

The wolf nods, leaning towards the omega. “Mm-hmm,” he mumbles, kissing his beautiful boy because he really, _really_, can’t get enough of him.

After a minute or two, Stiles pulls back slightly and asks, “Do you think my body is beautiful?”

Derek snorts with a roll of his eyes and flops to his back. The human eagerly follows, folding his arms on Derek’s chest and resting his chin atop them, staring intently at the wolf. “Well?” Stiles prods.

Derek fingers the hem of the Stiles’ hoodie, pushing it up a smidgen along with the t-shirt underneath. He splays his hand over the small of his omega’s back—it’s warm, baby soft, and makes the wolf breathe just a little bit faster.

“I think you know what I think,” Derek playfully says. Stiles seemingly accepts this answer, but the mischievous twinkle in his eye does little to comfort Derek.

“The face you made when you came was _so _unbelievably hot.” That just about collapses the alpha’s lungs and leaves him quite near death.

“_Stiles_,” Derek hisses.

The omega grins an adorably evil thing. “You took my virginity and came inside of me. How does your wolf feel about that?”

Derek’s irises flash a deep, dark crimson. “_Stop_.”

Stiles doesn’t stop. “I bet he liked it.” Of course, he liked it. The wolf is a hedonistic beastly fiend that doesn’t know any better. “Does he have feelings for me, too?”

“He has a lot of feelings about a lot of things.” Most of which are irrelevant.

Stiles pouts and pokes at Derek’s chest. “Be serious.”

“He finds you particularly tolerable.”

Stiles playfully frowns. “Just tolerable?”

“Particularly."

Stiles heartily sighs with a roll of his pretty eyes. He stretches a bit, kissing the underside of Derek’s chin. “I want to get to know him better.” The wolf in Derek wants that, too.

Stiles flicks his vision to the clock on the bedside table. It’s nearly 10am. “I should go soon.”

Derek disagrees. He tightly hugs his arms around the omega and possessively squeezes. “No.”

Stiles laughs in his grip. It’s a joyful little jingle that has the wolf smiling minutely to himself. “Well, I gotta. My dad will be worrying.”

“Fuck him,” Derek growls, but he doesn’t really mean it. He just wants to keep his omega around for longer. He doesn’t want to share. Sharing is the worst. Sharing can go straight to hell, his wolf thinks.

Stiles laughs harder as he tugs himself from the wolf’s grip. He sits up, but immediately leans over to give Derek a kiss. The wolf obliges. He kisses back, pressing a palm to the back of Stiles’ head, pulling him more firmly to him.

It excites Derek’s heart the way Stiles smiles into the kiss, like he just can’t hide how happy the wolf’s touch makes him—Derek feels similarly. When the omega eventually pulls away, they’re both smiling like a pair of big, dumb, lovestruck idiots.

Stiles tenderly brushes a thumb over the curve of Derek’s cheek. “You need to sleep.” The omega tells him, sliding off the bed. “Text me when you’re awake, ‘kay?” The wolf nods, smiling wider as Stiles spreads a throw blanket over him. The human is so undeniably precious. “It’s cool if I borrow your car, right?” Derek nods again. “I can catch an uber if you want me to.”

Derek huffs amusedly. “What’s mine is yours.” The second that’s out of his mouth he can imagine his father rolling in his grave. Nathanial was never the heavy-handed sort, but Derek can truly picture his father pummeling him for saying something that foolish to an omega.

Stiles gives the wolf a silly, but utterly charming grin as he grabs the keys off the dresser by Derek’s duffel bag. He pauses with his hand on the door handle, eyes mirthful and looking at Derek. “Don’t forget to text me.”

“I won’t,” Derek promises. That would be impossible.

Stiles stares at the wolf for a long moment, like he’s hovering between action and inaction. He drops his hand from the knob, putting the jangling set of keys in his pocket and hurries back to the side of the bed.

“One more kiss,” he says, reaching for the wolf. Derek sits up and Stiles in on him a second later, hands all in his hair and eager, hungry lips on his. It’s heaven.

It doesn’t last. “Okay,” Stiles mumbles against Derek’s mouth between kisses. “I should definitely go.”

Derek slips his hands behind Stiles, grabbing two handfuls of firm perfect booty. “Or you could stay.”

“Dude,” Stiles breathes, pulling away, but not before cupping Derek’s cheeks and pressing an adoring little kiss to the center of his forehead. “_Yes_, but also _no_,” he says while stepping backwards towards the door. “I want to, but my dad… the last thing I want is him getting antsy and for him to burst in here guns blazing while we’re doing something no father should ever see. That might actually kill him.” Stiles ponders what he said for a second. “If it didn’t, he’d definitely kill you.” Stiles grips the doorknob. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Derek nods as he positions himself, comfortably lying down, head on a fluffy pillow that smells like Stiles and a few faint scents of others. His eyes close on their own accord and he’s half asleep before he knows it. He swears he feels a hand in his hair and a sweet, lingering kiss to his temple moments before he’s completely out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was so short. I promise the next one will be longer.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man, is there anyone still even reading this? Lol!
> 
> This chapter is LONG overdue. I have not by any means given up on this story. Just lots of stuff going on in my personal life and very little time to write. I also deleted MANY chapters that I had written since I decided I hated them. So, I had to rewrite them all (not ones that I had posted). I like to be a bit ahead in case I want to change certain things.
> 
> I hope you all are well. This covid-19 stuff is freaking terrifying. Hopefully this can distract you for a little while.

Derek wakes feeling weird. Not bad necessarily, just weird. He can smell himself. It’s not normally something he ever notices but he’s a bit ripe by his standards, plus he smells like sex and Stiles. Mostly, he smells like he’s had sex _with_ Stiles.

That’s an odd thought. Now that he’s alone and not overwhelmingly horny he doesn’t know how he feels about that. Not good, he thinks. A little guilty. A little remorseful. A whole lot of shame, even a little disgusted with himself.

Derek halts his thoughts right there and doesn’t let them travel any further. They’re irrational, he tells himself. Not overly illogical considering the general consensus on omegas, but that doesn’t mean his thoughts are rational. It’s cultural conditioning, he thinks. He’s been taught to think these things. Beyond that, there’s absolutely no reason to feel the way he does.

He reminds himself that Stiles doesn’t deserve these thoughts. Stiles may be an omega, but he’s also brilliance and beauty. He’s goofy smiles and loving kisses. He’s adoring hugs and jovial laughter. Stiles is all good things and deserves just that in return.

_Don’t fuck this up for yourself_, he begs himself. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t over think it. Don’t hate yourself because you expect other people to. If they’re blind to Stiles, fuck them. Derek can’t help that. He’s the lucky one because he _sees _Stiles. He really and truly sees, and how fucking blessed does that make him? He’s the one that gets Stiles because he sees him for the treasure he is.

Plus, it’s Derek that Stiles thinks about. It’s Derek that Stiles wants. It’s Derek that Stiles can picture a life with, and that’s one hell of a privilege. He repeats this mantra in his head over and over. He’s lucky. Stiles is a blessing, a miracle, he’s water in a hot and dry desert. He’s exactly the kind of happiness Derek never thought he could ever have.

Derek does his best to convince himself that it doesn’t matter that Stiles is an omega. His gender doesn’t matter, and it will _never_ matter what other people think of the two of them together. Despite what people may think, Stiles doesn’t make him weak or stupid, and even if he did, maybe the wolf’s better off for it. Wouldn’t it be better to be weak and stupid and happy, instead of strong and smart and miserable?

Derek’s been miserable for ages, it feels almost ingrained at this point, but Stiles… Stiles is hope for something else. Stiles and him could have a _life_, a good life, a happy, fulfilling life. One with pack and puppies and a home.

Unless, of course, Stiles is everything Nathaniel told him an omega was.

His phone vibrates on the nightstand. He rolls over and reaches out, grabbing hold of the phone while unlocking it with his thumb as he brings it near. It’s just after 6pm, and holy shit, he has 19 missed texts, 18 of which are from Stiles.

11:16am: ‘_Look what I bought on my way home._’ Stiles had texted along with a picture of six bridal and wedding magazines. It makes Derek feel a bit woozy.

11:25am: ‘_My dad is pissed you’re in town btw._’ Pissed is not the adjective Derek would use. Enraged. Furious. _Murderous_. Would likely describe the sheriff better.

12:02pm: ‘_Don’t forget to text me_.’ Like Derek ever could.

1:30pm: ‘_Will I be your husband or wife? how does that work?_’ Are they really going to do this? Really, _really_?

1:33pm: ‘_Is it weird that I kinda want to be your wife?_’ Derek just about chokes on his own tongue when he reads this.

2:08pm: ‘_It’s official, weddings are a scam_. _Everything is overpriced._’ Money is no issue.

2:39pm: ‘_Are you expecting me to wear white?_’ Stiles can wear whatever the hell he wants. Less the better.

2:50pm: ‘_Do you have any idea how hot you’d look in a tux?_’ Derek blushes and keeps on reading.

3:17pm: ‘_I miss you._’ The wolf smiles, heart fluttering.

3:36: ‘_My dad noticed you gave the ring back. I think I just aged him by 5 years._’ Derek doesn’t doubt it.

3:55pm: ‘_He’s threatening bodily harm. Keep an eye out lol_.’

4:10pm: ‘_Annnd my dad just caught me looking at these stupid magazines. There goes another 5 years._’ Derek can’t help but laugh, can’t help but think Stiles is the most precious thing.

4:49pm: ‘_I’m not joking when I say keep an eye out._’ Derek’s going to pretend he is, though.

5:21pm: ‘_Are you awake yet?_’ Yes.

5:30pm: ‘_Can I see you later?_’ Hell yes.

5:43pm: ‘_You’re not ignoring me, are you?_’ Never.

5:57pm: ‘_Text me whenever you’re awake_.’ That was the plan.

6:14pm: ‘_Are you awake yet?_’

After reading through all that Derek thinks he might actually be involved with a crazy person. There’s definitely a red flag or two in there. None of it gives him serial killer or nefarious vibes, though, so he promptly ignores said red flags because Stiles is cute, so cute and eager, and definitely clingy, but the wolf in him likes clingy since it’s a possessive fool.

Before responding to Stiles, he looks at his other text which Peter sent a few hours ago. ‘_On my way to BH. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll find you when I’m there_.’

Derek doesn’t bother to say anything to Peter and swipes back to Stiles’ convo and texts, ‘_You’re a nut._’

His phone vibrates almost instantly with a new message from Stiles. It’s a grinning emoji with its tongue sticking out followed by a text that says, ‘_I can’t say I know what you mean_.’

The wolf smiles to himself as he types out a response. ‘_You’re lucky you’re cute._’

‘_You think I’m cute?_’ Stiles quickly replies. Before Derek can write a response, a text comes in from Peter, he’s asking what room Derek’s in.

Derek huffs and grumbles, joints popping as he forces himself out of bed. He goes to the window, pushing the dusty beige curtains aside. He easily spots Peter’s shiny, red and ridiculous Tesla parked obnoxiously in the middle of two spots. The omega wolf is wearing a purple V-neck and is sticking out like a supercilious sore thumb as he leans against the hood of his car.

He swipes back to Stiles’ messages. ‘_Peter just got here. I’ll text you later._’

Stiles immediately sends him just about dozen frowny faces. ‘_Can I see you tonight?_’

‘_Maybe,_’ Derek writes, but he’s thinking fuck yes. ‘_Ttyl._’

Stiles texts. ‘_Ugh, fine. Hug your mom. Moms like those. Yours NEEDS one._’

Derek tosses his phone to the bed and opens the door to outside, Peter notices him fairly quickly. Derek steps out, bare feet on cool concrete, the hems of his jeans around his heels brushing against the ground. Peter grabs a few paper bags from the front seat of his car before sauntering over, shoulders back with the air of smug confidence around him.

Peter holds up one of the brown paper bags as he comes closer. “I brought you food. You loved this place when you were a kid. You’d practically go feral over the wings.” Derek thinks something thoughtful like this should warm him from the inside out. It doesn’t. It chills him to the bone.

Derek remembers this place, any local would, but he doesn’t remember ever eating it in the presence of Peter. It leaves Derek wondering how much of his life did Peter watch without Derek noticing? How many little details does Peter know about Derek? It makes the wolf feel like he’s failed spectacularly at being a son because he knows next to nothing about his mom.

There are a few picnic benches on a grassy plot of land behind the motel. It’s near a trickling creek that a few kids poke around in, harassing salamanders. Derek pops back into the motel room to grab his phone off the bed, pocketing it, and two bottles of water from the mini fridge before meeting Peter out back.

Derek watches awkwardly from Peter’s side as the omega takes the items out of the bags. Derek thinks he should hug Peter just like Stiles instructed—he even wants to—but he honestly doesn’t know how to initiate something like that. So, instead, he ends up following the omega around as Peter sets the table, wood greying from the sun.

Peter has a very precise way of doing things. The paper plates are placed just so, napkins neatly folded, plastic cutlery atop them. The food is arranged like ornaments on the table, looking symmetrical and neat.

“You’re hovering,” Peter comments, glancing to the alpha as he steals the water from Derek’s hands. He puts them near the top right-hand corner of each plate. “Why are you hovering?”

Derek tries for nonchalant, and shrugs. “I’m not hovering.” He’s just watching. _Observing_. He’s never really paid all that much attention to Peter, never found him all that interesting. He never really considered the omega worth the time or effort, either, which makes him feel tremendously guilty. Peter’s his _mother_, he should be worth all the time and all the effort.

“You’re definitely hovering,” Peter insists while folding the empty bags.

“No, I… It’s good to see you, is all.” Shockingly enough, that isn’t even a lie. It feels good to be in his mother’s company. The omega’s presence feels comforting—he feels safe. He feels loved, and that’s a hell of a thing.

Peter screws up his face into something that looks an awful lot like disbelief. He drops the bags to the bench seat and looks dubiously at Derek. “You’re being weird,” he says.

Derek squares his shoulders, imitating confidence despite having none. “I’m trying to initiate a hug,” he admits.

Peter furrows his brow, gazing at Derek like he’s grown an extra head or two. “By breathing down my neck?”

Derek scowls at the omega. “Can I have a hug or not?”

Peter’s gaze turns suspicious. “Why?”

“Because I want one,” Derek tersely responds, yet that answer doesn’t seem to settle Peter, if anything in confuses the wolf further and leaves him looking leery at best. “You can say no if you don’t want to hug me,” Derek adds.

Peter seemingly thinks about it. “I want to,” he hesitantly replies.

Derek nods. “Okay then,” he says, opening his arms. Peter momentarily eyes them before stepping into them and honestly, truthfully, if Derek’s being blunt, it starts as the most awkward hug he’s ever experienced in his whole entire life.

Peter has an energy about him, it’s one that fills a room and makes it overwhelmingly tense. He’s also incredibly imposing and rather intimidating, although he somehow feels small in Derek’s hold. He’s not nearly as tall as the alpha, though, the ends of his hair tickle Derek’s lips. Derek dips his nose into the strands, inhaling, eyes closing as he turns his head, pressing his cheek against them. The omega smells like new car, fresh snow, and mama. The hug doesn’t last for nearly as long as Derek wants it to.

When they part, Peter reaches out, rubbing a possessive hand over the side of the alpha’s neck, leaving his scent behind. He lifts it further, patting Derek’s cheek a bit rougher than necessary. “I hope you used a condom,” Peter casually mentions.

Derek’s eyes immediately widen, cheeks flushing. Peter narrows his gaze, studying his son’s rather guilty demeanor. “All it takes is one time.”

“I’m aware.”

Peter quirks a judgmental brow. “You’re playing with fire, Derek.”

A low rumble of growl escapes the alpha, eyes flashing red. “It’s none of your business_._”

Peter waves him off, turning his back to the other wolf and takes a seat on a creaky bench. He reaches across the table gathering fries, wings, and pasta onto a paper plate for Derek. He motions to it. “Sit. Eat.”

Derek does as he told and sits across from the omega. Peter pushes over a bowl, it’s a garden salad. The wolf wrinkles his nose at it, although he begrudgingly stabs a white plastic fork into some lettuce and cucumber since he knows Peter’s going to demand it anyway. He shoves it into his mouth and as he chews, he glances up from the bowl to find Peter watching him, his own plate empty.

“You can eat with me if you want,” Derek suggests, “Stiles does. I don’t mind.”

“You should mind.”

Derek rolls his eyes and takes another hearty bite of salad. With a mouth full of greens, he says. “Well, I don’t and I won’t.”

“It’s about respect.”

Derek nods in agreement. “Exactly,” Derek says, grabbing his heaping plate full of food. He leans across the table and puts it in front of Peter, right on top of the empty plate. “You’re the matriarch. So, _you_ eat.”

Peter scoffs, eyeing the food like he’s never seen anything more offensive in his life. “I’m an _omega_.”

“You’re also my _mother_,” Derek vehemently retorts. Peter’s eyes snap to Derek’s, jaw clenched. “So, eat,” Derek demands.

“I’m not your—”

“You are,” Derek interrupts. “You’re my mom, so shut up and eat.”

The expression on Peter’s face is not one Derek recognizes. It’s one of bewildered surprise, an emotion that seems to render Peter speechless. Nevertheless, the omega listens to the alpha and digs in.

They spend the next few minutes eating in companionable silence. During which Derek can’t help but shoot little smiles Peter’s way because this is nice, it’s really nice. It’s weird, but still nice. Derek thinks they should do this more often. In fact, he wants to do it all the time. Maybe it could be a thing.

Peter doesn’t look like he agrees. “Are you high?” he eventually queries, “Or was the sex just that good?” Derek gags on a tomato. “Seriously, what’s gotten into you?”

“I’m in a good mood.”

Peter smirks. “So, it was the sex.”

Derek shakes his head, cheeks feeling hotter than the sun. “I’m not talking about that with you.”

While eating a few fries Peter stares unblinkingly at Derek. It makes the alpha squirm in his seat. “Treat his penis like you would a clitorous.”

Derek drops his fork to his plate, heart palpating. “Oh my god,” he breathes, head ducking as he covers his face with his hands, because he can’t. He just can’t.

“Lots of omegas don’t orgasm from penetration alone. If he enjoys himself during, he’ll want sex more often.”

Derek doesn’t look at Peter. He looks everywhere _but_ at Peter. “Shut up.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“Then _shut up_.”

Peter sighs. “You’re painfully immature.”

Derek forces himself to look up from his salad and at Peter, eyes fiercely crimson. “_Shut up_.”

Peter sighs again, sliding the empty plate out from under his half full one. He loads it up and hands it over to Derek. “Here, eat this before it gets cold.” Derek does because it’s a distraction and it’s far easier to eat than to acknowledge the fact that the omega in front of him—his own _mother_—just tried to give him sex tips.

The flavors are like a blast from the past. They remind him of his father and how Nathaniel would occasionally bring home the same chicken wings for Derek as a treat. He’d eat them in the garage as his dad worked on his cars. Nathaniel had two that he was building from the ground up, teaching Derek everything along the way. One was meant to be for Derek, the other for his sister Laura. They never got to drive them.

“I know you’ve been sneaking out at night, pup,” Nathaniel once told him from under the hood of the car, Derek perched atop a stool by a wall of tools on the other side. “Peter said he’s seen you sneaking out.”

The little wolf snorts, and with his front teeth he tears the meat from the bone of a chicken wing. “Peter is full of crap. He would say anything to cause drama.”

Nathaniel quirks a thick brow, one that’s identical to his son’s. “I’ve smelled her on you a few times.” Derek’s gaze hardens, red eyes defiantly meeting his father’s own glowing ones. “You’re just a puppy. She’s a grown human, a _huntress_. Stay away from her. I don’t want her hurting you.”

“She wouldn’t.”

Nathaniel gently places the wrench down and strides towards Derek. He looms over the little wolf looking giant and menacing, big muscles and sharp fangs. A clawed hand tightly grips Derek’s shoulder. “She’s plotting something. It’s only a matter of time, Derek. Whatever you had going on with her, it’s done. Got it?”

Derek nods, but doesn’t mean it. Nevertheless, he bares his throat, content to submit. The older alpha leans in, nipping soft skin before nuzzling his scruffy cheek against Derek’s neck, making his way upwards until they’re cheek to cheek. Derek happily growls, nuzzling back, eyes closing as his father surrounds him in a hug.

“You’ve got a good head your shoulders, Der,” Nathaniel rumbles, affectionately scrubbing his hand through Derek’s hair, making a mess of it. “Use it.”

With a heavyhearted huff of breath, Derek shoves the food aside, getting an odd look from Peter in return. He doesn’t care, he can’t even look at the wings right now. If he does, he might just cry, and Derek really doesn’t want to be some pathetic werewolf crying over chicken wings behind a rundown motel. Knowing his luck someone would snap a picture and post it online. He can see the headlines now, **Faggot Cry Baby Omega Fucker Weeps at the Sight of Chicken Wings**, **Mommy there to Soothe Him.**

Before the self-loathing can completely set in, Derek’s phone vibrates in his pocket. There’s only one person that can be since the only other person that ever contacts him is right in front of him. Sure enough, when he slides his phone from his pocket and takes a look, it’s Stiles.

‘_Are you guys busy? Do you two want to go get ice cream?_’

Derek furrows his brow. ‘_Are you being serious?_’

‘_Ya, dude. It’ll be fun._’

Under a furrowed brow Derek flicks his eyes toward Peter, who might actually be getting whiplash from Derek’s rollercoaster of emotions. “What?” Peter queries.

“Stiles wants to know if we want to go out for ice cream.”

Peter snorts amusedly as he forks a spiral shaped noodle. “You’re joking, right?”

“He thinks it would be fun.”

The omega narrows his eyes in on the wolf, seemingly staring straight into the alpha’s soul. “Do _you_ think it would be fun?”

Derek clears his throat, uncomfortable under Peter’s unwavering and ever critical gaze. “I don’t loathe the idea.”

The wolf spots a downright delighted—and deranged—twinkle in Peter’s eye. “Your _fiancé_ is already taming you,” Peter teases, “it’s quite darling.” Derek wrinkles his nose at the use of ‘fiancé’ as a cold, nervous sweat dampens his back.

“Stiles truly thinks I’m his fiancé.”

There’s that twinkle again. “He does indeed. When are going to correct him?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know…” Peter drawls, absolutely captivated.

“I’m pretty sure he’s spent the entire day actively planning our wedding.”

“You know that means he’s crazy, right?” Derek’s beginning to think that might just be a quality all omegas share.

Derek swallows, rolling his shoulders, feeling beyond awkward. “I find his enthusiasm appealing.” That twinkle turns scrutinizing, making Derek’s heart race while under the table he clasps and unclasps his clammy hands. “I think there’s a chance that I might, you know, maybe…” he shrugs. “Just maybe.”

“Maybe what, _marry_ _him_?”

Derek nods, sucking in a deep, awkward and stuttering breath in attempt to quell his frantic heart rate. “Yeah.”

Peter blinks, looking absurdly dumbfounded. “Alphas don’t marry omegas.”

“I might.” Just maybe. Possibly. There’s a slight chance he’s just that smitten. It’s entirely conceivable that he’s completely incapable of denying Stiles anything he asks for.

For a while Peter just sits there mystified, but eventually he says, “What time are we meeting him?”


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so so SO much for all the wonderful reviews. Especially from Dawn_of_the_grammar_nazis who basically wrote a whole essay, lol. Thank you thank you! I appreciate each and every one. Seriously. I remember originally being so scared to post this story and thought I'd get ripped to shreds or no one would read it at all. Knowing people like the story just really lights a fire under my ass and makes me want to do nothing other than write!! So here's another chapter! Enjoy!

Being in public generally puts Derek in a sour mood, this evening is no exception. However, the alpha wolf has the oddest and most bewildering feeling of affection as he watches Peter sip a steaming mocha from a white porcelain cup. The omega smells it first, closing his eyes before taking a sip. After he swallows, he looks up from the cup, meeting Derek’s unwavering gaze. Peter squints, cocking his head as he eyes his son like he’s a puzzle that’s missing a few pieces.

Derek wonders what his mother must think of him. Is he a disappointment? He feels like a disappointment.

“Are you in love him?” Peter queries.

Derek furrows his brow in confusion. “What?”

“Your omega. Are you in love him?”

Derek shrugs, looking away from Peter as he thinks about it. They’re seated outside on cast iron chairs, small matching circular tables all about—daisies and daffodils in planters. There are kids playing in a baseball field across the street from them, the crack of a ball hitting a wooden bat every once in a while. The sky is is turning orange in the distance, dark is nearing. People are milling about. The small diner is quiet. The world around him is mostly quiet, too. It’s almost enjoyable. The smell of pine in the air from rustling trees and the mouthwatering scent of sugar and fried food actually is.

He thinks of Stiles and love and he doesn’t know. What is being in love really? Is it devotion? Is it loyalty? Is it wanting someone so much it hurts, it makes you crazy? Derek feels crazy for wanting Stiles, but he wants him, and he wants him like he wants water and air.

“I don’t know how I feel,” Derek answers honestly.

Peter presses the cup to his lips, drinking. “You barely know him; you shouldn’t be considering marriage so soon.”

No harm in weighing his options, Derek figures. So, he shrugs again, taking his phone from his pocket of his leather jacket to distract himself. He doesn’t want to talk about this stuff, especially with Peter—particularly with Peter.

He anxiously bounces his leg as he pulls up Jackson’s contact. He taps new message and stares at a blank page, mind just as empty—he still doesn’t have a clue what to say to the human.

Peter, being the nosy omega that he is, leans across the table to get a view of the screen. “Still contemplating a ménage à trois, huh? I have a feeling your _fiancé_ won’t be too eager.”

Derek flicks his eyes to his mother and glowers, irises flaming red as he shoves his phone back into his pocket. “Shut up.”

Peter gives him a bitchy look, it’s one part smug and two parts condescension. “The apple never falls far from the tree, does it? Your father ended up screwing just about every pretty omega he laid his eyes on.”

Derek bares his teeth, fangs on full display, a gaggle of onlooking teens pointing at him as they walk by the terrace. He leans forward as he lowly growls, clawed fingers tightly encircling one of his mother’s wrists that rest on the table, “I am _not_ my father.”

Peter doesn’t simper. He doesn’t even twitch. “But you are an alpha,” he states. _Hardly_, Derek thinks. Maybe it’s his mother’s omega blood coursing through his veins that makes him feel so unlike the others. Or maybe he’s just a peculiar wolf. Nevertheless, he’s not the alpha Peter’s accusing him of being.

“I’m not an alpha like dad.”

Peter turns his nose up and looks away, taking another swallow of his mocha. “We’ll see,” he snidely remarks. “Best not to tempt fate, don’t you think?”

“Peter,” Derek rumbles, squeezing his mother’s wrist for a second time, not painfully, just firmly. “You _know_ I’m not my father.”

The omega side eyes the wolf, like he’s considering something. He slowly turns his head and looks at Derek straight on. “I wanted to be enough.” It takes a moment for Peter’s confession to click, but when it does, _God_, Derek’s heart snaps in two and shatters into just about a hundred-thousand microscopic pieces, because, fuck, the hurt on Peter’s face… the devastation in his eyes…

Derek slips his hand from Peter’s wrist into his mother’s palm and he gathers up strong fingers in his. “You’re enough for me,” the wolf earnestly insists. Maybe this hasn’t always been the case, and Derek can admit that as a child he used to dream of having a mother, a woman with sweet perfume and long dark hair that would tickle his face when she gave him hugs. He saw what his siblings had and wanted it for himself. It’s just a shame that, had he been a little smarter and bit more open minded, he’d have realized he had a mother all along.

Peter pushes forward, freeing his hand and pressing gentle fingers tips along the scruff of Derek’s cheek. He trails them down his son’s neck, a smooth, warm palm sliding its scent onto the alpha’s skin, making gooseflesh rise. The omega says, “Your father would kill me for forcing Stiles on you the way I did.” _So_ _why_ _did_ _you_, Derek wonders. That’s not what he says, though.

“It’s a good thing he’s dead then,” Derek blurts this out before he can really think about what he’s actually saying. The awful words make his wolf ache and they make his mother jolt.

“You don’t mean that,” Peter says. Derek honestly doesn’t know. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t. He probably doesn’t, but there’s still this tiny piece of him, so small it’s almost insignificant, that thinks if Nathaniel Hale were to suddenly rise from the grave, Derek would put him right back where he came from.

There’s one thing is Derek is certain of, however. “I wouldn’t trade you. I mean, if I could choose between you or dad, I’d choose you.”

“Why?” Peter asks, a mask of disbelief and confusion on his face.

Isn’t obvious? “I want my mom.”

Peter’s expression crumbles into something unrecognizable. He ducks it out of sight as he gets to his feet, pushing away his chair with the back of his knees, cast iron chair legs grind obnoxiously on the stone patio. The omega takes a step or two to round the small table, grabbing hold of his son’s shoulders, pulling him into a fierce hug, tight and breathless.

Derek’s face gets smooshed into Peter’s sternum. The alpha tenses at first, momentarily overwhelmed. He can’t imagine the sight they must make. Although, it’s easy to forget about being a spectacle when shielded by his mother, arms snug around his head blocking out snoopy patrons. So, he closes his eyes, nuzzling closer, the wolf in him merrily rumbling as he hugs back, arms lazily slung around Peter’s middle.

This is home, Derek thinks. His house may have burned, but _this is my home_. He only wishes he realized that fact sooner.

For just a moment, Peter leans away, grabbing his chair. He places it beside Derek’s and sits, pulling the alpha against him once more, meeting him half way. Without a care in the world, Peter sticks his face in Derek’s, pressing their cheeks together, growling a contented little sound.

Derek glances around, people are staring—it makes the wolf want to gouge their eyes out and snap their necks. Peter doesn’t seem to care much about the onlookers as he squeezes Derek and pecks a faint kiss to Derek’s cheek. It makes the alpha gape a bit at his mother. Peter has never shown that kind of affection before. Then again, Derek doubts he would have allowed it in the first place. He finds, though, as weird as it was, it wasn’t unwelcome.

Peter steadily holds eye contact, the omega’s irises glowing a fierce gold. He cranes his neck, baring his throat. Derek can’t resist—he’s there in an instant. The alpha possessively digs his fangs against Peter’s pulse-point, rumbling out a purr when Peter’s claws scrape against his scalp. Derek noses even closer, burying his face in his mother’s lulling scent. 

He stays just like that for a long while, his arms loosely around his mother’s torso, face hidden from the world, and gentle fingers combing his hair. He thinks might have been half asleep when Peter nudges him.

Derek turns his head on his mother’s shoulder, looking towards the quaint building. It’s in that moment Stiles barges through French doors onto the open terrace. The omega looks his normal frazzled self, donned in baggier than usual jeans and a plain blue t-shirt, a rumpled plaid flannel button up over top. Except for when the omega’s been dressed in PJ’s, Derek doesn’t think he’s ever seen Stiles so covered up. The wolf’s not sure he likes it since he’s become accustomed to being offended and equally aroused by the mere sight of the human.

Stiles’ eyes dart around the place and as their gazes catch, Stiles hands come to his chest, resting over top his heart while he mouths a silent ‘oh my god,’ and sappily grins. Derek lifts his head from his mother’s shoulder, failing to hold back his own smile as his heart flutters and his stomach excitedly flip flops. Unfortunately, that feeling almost immediately dissipates as Derek realizes _why_ Stiles is dressed so conservatively. Right behind the omega, the sheriff stands stoically. He’s donning casual clothes, but Derek can still see the outline of his sidearm under his coat.

“Oh Jesus,” Derek breathes, turning his head away like maybe a miracle might happen and the cop won’t be able to see him if his eyes aren’t visible.

“Well, shit,” Peter muses, “Stiles was right, this will be fun.”

Out of his peripheral vision he sees Stiles’ arms flap a short distance away. “Holy moly, what a coincidence! Look who’s here, dad.”

Noah’s eyes don’t need to scan the terrace, they’ve already honed in on the wolf—Derek can _feel _the scorn behind them. Derek doesn’t look, though, no way. He’s too much of a coward. If he looks, he’s certain the cop will know, he’ll have some protective fatherly instinct that tells him that the werewolf raw dogged his son in the backseat of a car this morning. He’s certain if their eyes meet, the sheriff will take the sidearm from his hip and blow Derek’s brains so far out of his skull they’ll splatter the patrons, effectively scaring them for life.

“A coincidence indeed,” Noah remarks, undoubtedly suspicious. “You know, if I was a betting man, I’d say it wasn’t a coincidence at all.”

“The job’s made you paranoid, dad,” Stiles hastily replies, tugging on his father’s sleeve, attempting to pull the man further onto the patio. “We may as well visit with them—don’t want them to think we’re rude.”

“I really don’t care what that alpha thinks of me.” Noah yanks his arm back, ripping his sleeve from his son’s grip. “We’re leaving.”

Stiles huffs, turning around to face his father. “Dad, you can leave, or you can get to know my _fiancé, _whom I’m going to marry whether you like it or not. It would mean the world to me if you gave him a chance.” Stiles smiles a sweet, yet utterly coy smile as his pretty amber eyes twinkle in the slowly setting sunlight.

The sheriff sucks in a deep calming breath while leaning his head back, gazing heavenward. After a moment he sighs as he looks back to his son. “Fine.”

Stiles giddily grins. “You’ll love him!” he happily exclaims, his father looking a bit green around the gills at the mere thought.

Stiles eagerly jogs over, the sheriff slowly trailing behind. Under the table Peter kicks Derek’s shin, motioning with his head for the wolf to get up. “Have some manners,” Peter quietly hisses. “Greet the sheriff.”

With a hearty roll of his eyes, Derek stands. It’s worth it since one hell of a beauty throws himself at Derek, giving the wolf his best impression of a bear hug. Derek awkwardly pats the omega’s back despite wanting nothing more than to smother him completely, but people are looking, people are judging, particularly the sheriff as he nears.

When Stiles pulls away, he has a gorgeous and delightfully goofy grin on his face while giving him a quick once over. The omega’s eyes glitter with approval as he skims a hand over the front of Derek’s jacket. “It should be illegal for you to wear leather. It makes the rest of us plebs look like a sack of potatoes.”

Derek snorts amusedly. Stiles is a great many things, but a sack of potatoes isn’t one of them. “I don’t see a sack of potatoes when I look at you.”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles queries, expression downright flirtatious, fingers fiddling with the corner of Derek’s coat where the zipper begins. “What do you see?”

Noah slaps his hand down on the table, rattling Peter’s mocha, gathering their attention. “An idiot,” he deadpans.

Stiles’ smile only widens as he loops his arms around Derek’s middle, clasping his hands under one of Derek’s arms, gazing up at the wolf with fluttering eyelashes. “An idiot in _love_,” the omega singsongs.

Derek’s eyes widen as he internally panics, although at the same time warm, fuzzy butterflies flutter and flap eagerly in his belly. “Oh,” is all he can manage to say, eyes darting past the scowling sheriff and to Peter, who quirks a curious brow.

“I missed you,” Stiles says to Derek, getting onto his tippy-toes and stealing a quick kiss. He mostly gets the corner of Derek’s mouth, but it’s enough to make the wolf balk and his face flame red.

The sheriff narrows his gaze in on the wolf, and Derek can’t quite tell if he’s daring him to return the affection or telling him he’ll get trigger happy if Derek does. “I think you’re embarrassing him, son,” Noah casually notes, but Derek knows, he _knows_ beyond all doubt that what the sheriff is really saying is that Derek is embarrassed _of_ Stiles, which isn’t entirely inaccurate, but also isn’t entirely true. Derek isn’t embarrassed _of_ Stiles; he’s embarrassed of the implication. Kissing Stiles implies that he’s a big fruity faggot, and Derek hasn’t quite come to terms with that just yet.

Peter clears his throat, rising from his seat, probably sensing _and_ scenting Derek’s inner turmoil. “Noah!” he chimes. “What a sight for sore eyes.”

The sheriff immediately softens when he lays his sights on Peter. He holds out a hand for the wolf to shake, but the omega smacks it away like it personally offends him and goes in for a hug instead. Noah laughs as their chests bump, clapping Peter on the back.

“How long has it been?” The sheriff asks, giving the wolf a good once over as they part, a friendly grip on the omega’s upper biceps. “Look at you, you got buff.”

Peter smirks, “And you got old, my friend,” he jests in good fun, reaching for a few greys, giving them a flick. “What are these?”

Noah happily chortles, batting the hand away. “The result of a wayward son.”

Peter proudly grins, coming to Derek’s free side, resting a hand on the alpha’s shoulder. “Speaking of sons, this is my boy, Derek. I saw on the news you two have briefly been acquainted.” Peter sends a pointed, rather heated glare the sheriff’s way. It barely lasts a second and the alpha can’t be certain Noah even catches it. Then Peter is glancing at Derek, smiling as he pinches one of the alpha’s cheeks which said alpha pointedly ignores. “Handsome, isn’t he?”

Stiles grins like a loon as Derek’s face reaches a temperature that rivals the sun. The sheriff, on the other hand, snorts. “Can’t say he’s my type, Petey.”

Peter’s eyes shift to Stiles. “At least your son has good taste.”

“That’s debatable,” Noah retorts.

“Let’s be real,” Stiles says, giving Derek’s arm a shake. “It’s this guy who has the best taste.”

Noah gives Derek a rather accusatory once over. “Are young boys your flavor, Derek?”

Derek can hear the click of Peter’s teeth as he grits them, fingers digging into the alpha’s shoulder where he still holds on. “Noah,” Peter rather curtly begins. He plasters a very uncomforting smile onto his face, “I must warn you that when someone insults my puppy, I feel a bit nippy.” He laughs a devilish thing. “Lord knows us werewolves aren’t known for our self-control,” the smile drops from Peter’s face, “so I wouldn’t push it.”

Noah, blank faced, and an irked Peter stare unblinkingly at each other, accessing. Stiles clears his throat, eyes darting between the two. “Time for ice cream?”

Peter keeps his gaze firmly on the sheriff. “I’d love some,” he brusquely replies, a hint of fang showing.

Noah gives a curt not. “Me too.”

Stiles wrinkles his nose, perturbed, though he laces his fingers with Derek’s and drags him into the building, glancing over his shoulder a time or two to make sure the ‘adults’ are following.

The restaurant has a rustic feel and smells like cedar and far too many people. They all look, why wouldn’t they? Derek would be doing the same if he saw a sour faced alpha hand in hand with a bright eyed and particularly beautiful omega. Derek doubts they notice the latter details, but that just proves the general population is concerningly unobservant.

Stiles pulls him near a glass display case, ice cream kept cool within. Stiles squishes up to the alpha, lanky arms hugging him around his midsection because the omega is a clingy thing with no sense of personal boundaries. And while that moderately embarrasses Derek as a man, the wolf within him rumbles with pride, gazing adoringly down at the pretty little number giving him affection.

Stiles tilts his chin upwards, meeting Derek’s possessive gaze. The omega gives him blindingly beautiful smile, cheeks rosy. “What’s your favorite kind?” he queries.

“Butter pecan,” Derek answers.

“Ew,” Stiles says, disgust playfully dancing over his features, “you’re such an old man.”

“It’s a classic,” Derek explains.

Stiles snorts with a roll of his eyes, attention falling away from Derek as he presses his palms against the glass of the display case, observing all the flavors. Stiles, in the end, can’t judge anybody on their ice cream preferences. He gets a waffle cone with three scoops—raspberry ripple, moose tracks, and lastly a heaping scoop of bubblegum. It’s truly an abomination.

Derek lets Peter order next—Cookies n’ Cream in a chocolate waffle cone, Noah following with tiger tail. Lastly, Derek gets a regular cone with plain vanilla ice cream since he’s unadventurous and boring.

The omegas head back outside to the table while Derek heads up to the front, Noah right behind. “I’ll pay,” Derek says as the two of them reach the register.

“It’s fine,” Noah grumbles, “I got it.”

“I don’t mind paying,” Derek tells him.

Noah shrugs. “Neither do I. I’ll get it.”

Derek’s eyes flare red because this man is as impossible as his son. “I _insist_.”

The sheriff scoffs as he pulls out his wallet. “I don’t take orders, especially not from the likes of you.”

Derek huffs, cricking his neck and rolling his shoulders since he’s tense as fuck. “The only order I’m making is for ice cream,” he tersely remarks, lifting the cone and giving it a bit of shake for emphasis.

Noah quirks a brow, though nods, seemingly accepting Derek’s answer. Nevertheless, he slides a few bills from his wallet and onto the counter by the register. “I’m paying.” Derek knows when to give up.

Noah leads the way back outside, though by the French doors, he halts, turning to the wolf. The firm set of his shoulders, the astoundingly displeased expression on his face, and the holstered gun on his hip might’ve intimidated Derek if it weren’t for the fact that the Sheriff was also holding a delicate ice cream cone with chocolate sprinkles atop it.

“I recall telling you to stay away from my son,” Noah says. “I also recall telling you what would happen if you didn’t.” Derek stares at the sheriff, expressionless and bit devoid of thought actually. Awkward situations have always tended to make Derek coil into himself. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?” Not really, Derek thinks, eyes wandering to his ice cream, cone in hand, a sticky, melting dribble of it running over his fingers. He wants to lick it before it gets worse, but that would be weird, right? Super weird considering the situation.

Noah silently watches him and Derek debates with himself on what to do. Ice cream, for all intents and purposes, is truly a ridiculous treat to eat with another man that teeters precariously close to being your enemy. So, Derek does the only thing he can do, he pretends Noah isn’t there. He keeps his eyes directed downward on the task at hand as he wipes his fingers clean on the napkin covering the cone and licks around the edges to halt more drips. Out of his peripheral vision he sees the sheriff do the same.

When he’s got the worst of it, he glances back up, Noah’s attention already returned to him, the wolf says the first thing that comes to mind, “I care a lot about Stiles.”

Noah doesn’t miss a beat. “Then you’d want what’s best for him, and that ain’t you.”

Derek shrugs and takes another lick of his dessert. “I might be.” He’s not, let’s be real. But if he tries hard enough, if aims high as the sky, one day he might very well be deserving of such an exceptional omega. Perhaps, when all is said and done, there might come a day when the sheriff is glad Derek is his son’s alpha.

And pigs might one day fly.

Noah’s face becomes pinched, free hand hovering over his sidearm like he’s genuinely considering putting a bullet or two into the wolf. After a few moments he moves his hand away and hooks his thumb onto his belt instead. Once again, he’d look rather intimidating if it weren’t for the ice cream cone.

“You’re not marrying my son.” Quite frankly, Derek doubts neither he, nor the sheriff, has a choice in the matter. “What do you even want him for? It isn’t status, I’ve seen what folks are saying about you on television.”

For some reason that question bothers Derek. It’s what the human is implying… that the wolf has to be using Stiles for something, that he couldn’t possibly want Stiles for Stiles, like maybe Stiles isn’t enough.

Despite all the nerves and anxiety bubbling within him, Derek decides to say what the wolf in him has been thinking since day one, “Stiles is sunshine.” The expression that befalls the sheriff’s face is one of shocked befuddlement and Derek has to wonder, did Noah never even consider that it could be entirely possible, that _maybe_, Derek simply _likes_ Stiles. “He’s funny… and annoying…” And a really good kisser, too. The sex was phenomenal. “He smells nice.”

“Yeah? Like what? Fresh meat?” Noah quips, brow quirked.

Derek cracks a barely there smile. “Like comfort,” he admits. Like good things and good things to come. Happiness, if it were a person. It’s the kind of scent that has Derek crawling out of the dark, dank hole he’d been hiding in and searching for more.

Noah stares at the wolf for a long, uncomfortable minute before he rolls his eyes, shoving past the wolf, grumbling, “Fuck off,” as he heads through the double doors and onto the patio. The wolf can’t help but laugh a little, a slight chuckle, a mere tickle of delight as his eyes follow the human out the door. His smile lasts even longer when he sees Stiles’ hand in Peter’s, the older omega examining how the engagement ring looks on Stiles’ finger.

It’s reality, but it’s not. It’s life, but how? When did this happen? It’s weird seeing something that he never could have fathomed happening. A fiancé. He has a fiancé. An omega fiancé. Such a strange and unsettling reality he’s in. Almost like a dream. Not that long ago he would have called it a nightmare.

He watches a few minutes longer, leaning against the open door frame, leisurely eating his ice cream cone. When Stiles eventually notices, the omega winks at him. It’s a ridiculous, open mouthed thing, but it has Derek biting his bottom lip to hold back laughter. Stiles waggles his eyebrows and blows him a kiss. It’s not just their table that sees, it’s everyone in the vicinity because, although Stiles doesn’t seem to try, he sure does attract attention.

The heat rises in Derek’s face, cheeks the color of pretty pink posies. It makes Stiles throw his head back in laughter, taking joy in the wolf’s discomfort. Somehow, Derek’s okay with that. He thinks it’s because there’s no sight in the world the rivals the beauty of his merry omega. It’s the kind of thing he could watch day after day and only want more of it.

When Stiles is once again distracted by Peter and Derek thinks no one is watching, he catches the kiss he imagines floating and fluttering across the patio like a dandelion seed. He puts it in his coat pocket to save it for later.

The sheriff watches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say that while it may seem like the sheriff is coming around. It won't be quite that easy. I think he's a smart man. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer and all that.


	33. Chapter 33

When the world above him turns a hazy purple, orange sherbet skies in the distance, little white twinkling lights turn on, illuminating the patio. Ivy weaves in and out of the veranda, strings of lights subtly placed amongst them—it reminds Derek of little dancing fairies. It’s pretty in a magical way, which is odd, since this city is anything but magical.

The wolf sips a whiskey and coke, barely tasting it, as he stares out at the baseball field across the street. Teens loiter on the bleachers, streetlamps making them look like shadows. Trees rustle, the streets are clean, businesses are closing for the day, the familiarity of it all feels surreal to Derek. He never thought he’d be back in Beacon Hills—never wanted to be back here, yet here he is. Unfortunately, Beacon Hills just isn’t the same without his siblings running amuck. The town feels as dead as them.

Derek can’t help but wonder if Peter feels it, too. Does the omega wolf sense the looming, claustrophobic feeling of death, smell the rottenness of decay wafting from the preserve where their old house resides? Does Peter feel the emptiness in the air? The nothingness? Or is Derek simply losing his mind?

Perhaps Derek isn’t so crazy since his mother is four and half martinis deep and startlingly wasted. Derek doesn’t use alcohol to distract himself, no, he has Stiles for that. The omega’s elbows are rested on the small round table, the sleeves of his plaid button up are rolled partway up his forearms. He nurses a beer, brown bottle against pink lips, outer corners of his eyes crinkled with mirth—he’s a gorgeous sight. Then again, he always is.

“Is Derek your first love?” Peter asks Stiles, martini glass held in an unsteady hand. He swallows a large mouthful, barely tasting it as he curiously eyes the younger omega.

Stiles bites his bottom lip, nodding, smiling, cheeks rosy, eyes glittery. He’s drunk, but not sloppily so. He places his beer bottle on a paper coaster, glances between his father and Peter, smile growing.

“I’m so happy,” Stiles says. He looks over to Derek, catching the wolf’s gaze. “You’re a miracle.” Derek is _not_ a miracle. He’s the farthest thing from it. Maybe the exact opposite, whatever that is. A curse? It doesn’t matter. He’s a really bad idea, is what he is. He’s also selfish, extremely selfish, so he won’t tell the omega just how bad of an idea he is.

“I think,” Noah begins, fingering his empty gin and tonic, swirling the ice around the bottom. “You’re mistaking infatuation for love.”

Peter dramatically snorts, taking another long gulp of his drink, finishing it as he turns to Noah, the human sitting to his right. “Has your feeble old heart turned to stone?” he amusedly chides. “Who are you to say he isn’t in love?”

The sheriff huffs, pushing his glass aside. “I’m trying to be realistic.”

“You’re being boring,” Peter retorts. The omega grins, aiming it toward Derek. It’s discomforting and kind of creepy. “Let them have their fun. They’re only young once.”

“Young?” Noah quips. “Derek is practically middle aged.”

Stiles chokes on his beer, sputtering, “He’s _29_.”

The sheriff swings his attention Derek’s way, cocking his head as he eyes the wolf. “You look like the kind of guy that picks up hitchhikers and guts them in the woods.” Derek has a feeling the sheriff might just be a little drunk, too.

Peter chortles, motioning towards Derek’s face, “It’s the eyebrows.”

Stiles nods in agreeance, bumping against Derek’s shoulder with his own, glancing at him admiringly, “You do look _really _dangerous.” Derek would like to think that’s the alpha in him peeking through, but it’s more than likely just his resting bitch face. Once upon a time, his sister Laura used to tease him for it.

“You might want to take that as a sign,” Noah warns his son.

Stiles gives his father a roll of the eye. “Sign of what? Looks can be deceiving? Derek’s not dangerous.” He could be. He might be. He sometimes is.

Noah sighs and suddenly looks ten years older. “Need I remind you about all the blood Derek was wearing when I finally tracked you two down?”

“Uh, yeah, like I said, it was the blood of an _enemy_,” Stiles quite seriously retorts. It earns an approving smile from Peter… the sheriff on the other hand… “It was in my honor!” Stiles hysterically insists. “That has to count for something.”

“It was romantic,” Peter drawls.

Noah’s face turns about a dozen shades redder, vein near the middle of his forehead bulgingly prominent. “Violence is _never _romantic.”

Peter ferally grins. “It is when werewolves are involved.”

Noah dips his head forward, massaging his temples like he’s battling a migraine. It’s Stiles who speaks up. “I feel safe with Derek. We’re in love.” Are they? Is he? Derek’s still trying to figure that out.

“Then I’ve raised a moron,” Noah grumbles, earning a sad little frown from Stiles. The sheriff lifts his chin, eyes pleading, begging his son to understand. “He’s an _alpha_, Stiles.”

“I happen to like that about him,” Stiles mentions just before a waitress stops by their table, dropping off a few more drinks, much to Peter’s pleasure. When she heads back inside Peter takes a long sip of his fresh margarita, vision roaming around the table. It lands on Noah.

“Derek isn’t the boogey man,” Peter drawls, taking another taste of his drink before gingerly placing it on a paper coaster. He furrows his brow, expression thoughtful as he gazes at the sheriff, attempting to inspire compassion, “If you were a bit more openminded and truly gave him a proper chance, you might find yourself surprised, because I can promise you, Noah, whatever you’re imagining, he isn’t it.”

Noah shakes his head, weathered fingers around a gin and tonic, the outside of the glass wet with condensation. He lifts his index finger from the cup and points it at Peter, “I feel sorry for you,” he points to his son next, “and you, for being fools. What is it with men with wombs flocking to assholes like this,” and then he points to Derek, finger not much more than a foot away from the wolf’s face. Derek’s irises glow a fiery, menacing crimson while he thinks to himself that if he were a lesser wolf, he’d bite off the finger that points at him.

“_Dad_!” Stiles exclaims, practically throwing his torso across the table and wrenching the glass from his father’s hand. “You’re cut off.”

Noah doesn’t even look at Stiles, instead he stares down Derek, Peter seething beside the human. Peter doesn’t show it, but Derek sure can smell it.

“Tell me,” Noah demands, “are alphas even capable of love?”

That’s not really a fair question, is it? Love is why Derek’s whole family is dead. Or at the very least, the idea of it. Maybe the desperation for it. Hell, teenage Derek thought he was enough to change Kate, that somehow, someway, she found him so irresistible, so handsome and loveable, she’d pack her guns away, quit being a huntress and one day she’d be his wife instead. He thought they’d live in a beautiful house just like the one he grew up in, and she’d give him a family, a _big_ family of his own. He thought he was Romeo, her Juliet, and somehow, someway, the story wouldn’t end so tragically this time around.

The memory of meeting her, of seeing her for the very first time is still as vivid as the day it happened. It was simple. Startlingly simple. It all started with a smile, and Derek can’t help but wonder if he born weak when it comes to pretty things that smile at him.

He’d been sitting on a park bench, rolling fields of grass scattered with trees and cobblestone paths. It was a gorgeous day, blue skies and fluffy white clouds. It was the kind of day where just being outside made him thankful to be alive.

He was watching humans stroll by, always ignoring him, never looking, but that didn’t matter, because suddenly he saw _her_. Jean shorts, combat boots and a fluttery blouse that hung off a flawless shoulder. She was walking an excitable chocolate lab that kept tugging at the nylon leash, wrenching her arms this way and that.

And then she looked at him, she looked and she looked and she looked like she _saw_, like she was figuring him out, then she smiled a golden smile that hooked him because nobody had ever smiled at him like that before, and she was a woman, not a girl, and that woman riled the wolf within.

Derek now wonders if in that moment she already knew she’d kill his family. Had she planned their meeting? Had she seen the lonely little werewolf sitting in the park day after day and thought he’d make the perfect target, that it would be _so_ easy to use him? Did he look as vulnerable as he just so happened to be?

Kate took his first everything. His first intimate touch, a caress of fingers that made goosebumps rise. His first kiss. His virginity. But it was more than that, it was more than skin on skin—she was his first friend, the very first person beyond family to show interest in him, and that _meant_ something dear to Derek. Because, sure, while he had brothers and sisters, he wasn’t one of them. They were pack, they were family, but at the same time they weren’t his. They were his father’s, they were Talia’s, but Talia didn’t want Derek and who could blame her for that?

So, when Derek met Kate, he just wanted to belong. He wanted her to be _his_.

Derek didn’t get to go to school with his siblings, he didn’t get to join them for dinner each evening or church every Sunday. He wasn’t privy to family vacations. He wasn’t welcome at his sibling’s birthday parties, and he unfortunately didn’t get to partake in Christmas festivities with them either, because while he was a part of them, he wasn’t _one_ of them. He was his father’s bastard and, yes, being an alpha made up for a lot of the shame that came along with that, but still, he could never be one of them. He was something to be hidden, not flaunted. He was evidence that Nathaniel Hale was a flawed and particularly weak alpha. Derek, himself, wasn’t truly the embarrassment—where he came from was.

Sometimes Derek wonders if Talia didn’t like him not because of what he represented, but because of the fate he’d bring upon them. Could she sense it? Would she look at him and shiver, feeling in her bones that he’d be the one to damn them all? Did he come out of the womb a bad omen? Is that why she couldn’t love him like she loved her own children?

When he was quite small, late at night, he’d occasionally hear his father and Talia arguing. She wanted Derek gone. She especially wanted Peter gone. Derek couldn’t blame her for that, either.

“Do you remember the story of Adam and Eve?” Nathaniel once asked his son while tucking him into bed at night, crescent moon hanging lazy and bright in the sky, shining through the rounded window. It reminded the little wolf of a submarine, the world outside underwater.

The little alpha nods and his father continues, “Peter is the serpent in the garden. He will only lead you astray, all omegas will. They are pure evil.”

Wide innocent eyes blink up at the older man. “Am I evil, too, daddy?” Derek queries, a blanket with rocket ships tucked under his chin, short little legs squirming.

“No,” Nathaniel quietly responds, fingers reverently combing through the thick black locks of Derek’s shaggy hair. “You’re an _alpha_. You have _my_ blood coursing through your veins. Peter was just the vessel that birthed you. Nothing more. So, if he comes in here at night, you holler for me, okay?”

Derek gazes at his father, afraid. “Will he eat me?”

Nathaniel curtly nods, removing his hand, eyes flaring red. “He will eat your soul.”

Still, later that night, when the sound of floorboards creaking woke the little wolf and slender arms pulled him onto a warm lap and into an even warmer embrace, the little alpha pretended to be asleep. He groggily nuzzled his nose into a chest that smelled like the freshness of spring and unconditional love. Peter hummed soft, pretty tunes as he gently petted Derek’s hair, fingers brushing over the small, delicate curve of the pup’s cheek.

“I love you,” Peter had whispered. “I love you so much, puppy. You’re my whole world. Please don’t forget that.” Unfortunately, there comes a day when Derek does.

Yet, now, as Derek looks at his mother seated across the table from him, he wants to scream—he wants to howl with rage for what his father stole from the both of them. Had Derek never been poisoned against his mother, had he been taught to love Peter instead, maybe he wouldn’t have been desperate for love and searched for it in Kate. Maybe if he had a proper family, a proper pack, if he had truly belonged, nobody would have died.

He stares at Peter who stares right on back, unblinking, curious. Derek is curious, too. Curious if in some other reality, some other plain of existence, if things are different between him and his mother. Are they close? Is he a momma’s boy? What kind of alpha would he be if the omega had raised him? Would he be better? Stronger? Would he have a pack of his own?

It’s hard to fathom a world where his mother held him every day, loved on him, kissed and cuddled and adored him whenever it suited. It kills him to think Peter probably yearned for it, perhaps even begged Nathaniel for it, at one point he even went far enough to steal Derek away, and look where that got the omega. Locked up in the looney bin all because his own son attacked him—the alpha son that should have protected him, should have fought _for_ him, not against him.

The guilt Derek feels is indescribable. He wants to look away from Peter, but that in itself feels like an injustice. He should have to look. He should have to see exactly what he’s done. He wonders, not for the first time, what it would have been like if Peter was successful at stealing him away from his father. Would he have come to love his mother like he always should have? Would the rest of his family be alive right now? What if?

_What_ _if?_

Derek feels the heat grow behind his eyes, the tremble of his fingers, the shakiness of his breaths as emotion overwhelms him. Stiles’ hand reaches over, squeezing his knee, startling him. He breaks eye contact with Peter as he turns his head, attention on Stiles. The omega scooches his chair closer, cast iron legs grinding against stone. He presses their chairs together and pushes himself against Derek’s side, guiding the wolf’s arm over his lithe shoulders.

Stiles absentmindedly fiddles with Derek’s fingers hanging over his shoulder by his chest as he gazes up at with wolf with the sincerest expression, glittering amber eyes looking at him like the wolf means something, like he’s _worth_ something, like he _loves_ him. That breaks Derek a little more… was this how Peter used to look at his father? Because Derek doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand. He can’t imagine ever treating this pretty little creature cruelly. Stiles is precious, he’s so damn precious it practically makes Derek dizzy with it, because how? How is this omega real and why the fuck is he slumming it with him?

Stiles glances away, squinting at Derek’s hand, picking at one of the wolf’s fingernails, mouth downturned into a slight but thoughtful frown. “You’re overthinking the question, dude.” Derek doesn’t even remember what the question _is_, which probably means Stiles is right.

Derek holds his omega a bit closer, feeling particularly protective. It disturbs him to think there’s wolves—humans, too, no doubt—that would do awful things to this boy.

Derek doesn’t think, doesn’t care, when the wolf in him leans in, pressing their nose to Stiles’ hairline, lips resting on his temple. He inhales, the wolf contently rumbling as the world falls away, eyes closing. The sweet scent of omega is like a burst of evergreen freshness. It reminds him of nature, of wild flowers and fruit trees, and things that grow into _more_. It’s the scent of fertility and it’s electrifying. It makes him yearn for things he never thought he would, never thought he could. It’s not just the wolf that wants, it’s Derek who feels an almost desperate and particularly feral need to bury his seed deep within the omega so it takes hold and births new life.

The wolf breathes a little longer, a little deeper, and simply enjoys the pure scent of just Stiles. Irresistible, beautiful, darling, Stiles. Yet, if he goes even deeper, if he really pays attention, he gets a faint whiff of himself. It’s the kind of scent that tells any other wolf that Alpha Derek Hale has been here and _done_ that.

There’s a click and an obnoxious flash of light that drags Derek out of whatever trance he’d been in. It has him snapping open his eyes, seeing his mother grinning at him, phone pointed at him. “You two are adorable,” Peter coos.

Scowling, the sheriff gruffly says, “That’s not the word I’d use.”

“Can I see?” Stiles queries.

Peter’s gaze flicks to Stiles as he nods. “What’s your number? I’ll send it to you.”

As Stiles rattles off his number, his phone pinging, Derek awkwardly finds his eyes meeting those belonging to Noah. The sheriff stares unwaveringly, mouth a thin line and brow furrowed just a smidgen, just enough to look threatening, but not laughably so. He looks serious, painfully and pulse elevatingly serious.

“Oh my god!” Stiles squeals, shoving his phone in Derek’s face. “_Look!_” he merrily beams. “I freaking love it!” Derek’s vision takes a moment to adjust to something so close to his face, but when his eyes eventually focus, the picture he sees makes his heart skip a beat.

Derek can’t stop his cheeks from flushing, the cool outside air suddenly feeling stiflingly warm as he studies the image of himself cozied up with Stiles. It’s bizarre seeing himself with someone that for all intents and purposes looks entirely male, especially since they’re posed in such an intimate way it’s obvious they’re a couple, there’s no mistaking them for something else.

At first glance, Derek instinctively feels shame and a churning of disgust deep in his gut. However, his wolf is giddily prancing across his mind as it joyfully observes the picture. It likes. It loves. It feels _proud_. It revels in the sight of his arm around such a beautiful omega, nose affectionately buried in Stiles’ mop of auburn hair. The joy his wolf feels radiates through him and has him gazing tenderheartedly at the picture, a smile creeping onto his lips.

Stiles is smiling in the picture, which makes Derek’s own grow. Stiles’ smile in the picture is not a toothy grin, just a small thing, a sweet thing that makes the wolf’s heart feel quite mushy. The omega’s cheeks are pink as he holds tightly to Derek’s hand, pulling the arm it’s attached to over his chest, hugging it tight. Derek’s eyes are closed in the picture, but he looks serene. Derek would even dare to say at peace because he thinks he was. That’s a peculiar realization, considering he’s got so many demons inside him.

“Send me a copy,” Derek requests, handing the phone back to his omega

Stiles happily grins, chin quickly going up and down as he nods. “Sure,” he says. “Do you mind if I put it as my profile picture?” That makes Derek nervous.

“Profile for what?” the wolf questions, phone vibrating in his pocket.

“Instagram.” Derek’s first thought is to say no. Anyone, hell, everyone could see it. It would prove exactly what they’re already thinking—that the alpha is gay, really fucking gay. Stiles gives Derek’s ribs a nudge with a boney elbow. “Pretty please?”

“Okay,” he replies, because what can he say? What else can he do? The world _should _know Stiles is taken, right? And the world should definitely know the alpha he belongs to… at least that’s what the wolf in him is thinking.

“What’s your handle?” Peter asks Stiles, tapping at his phone. Derek wrinkles his nose since how did he not know that his own mother had social media and why does that seem like such a weird thought?

As the omegas talk amongst themselves the wolf accidentally meets Noah’s eyes. He immediately wishes he hadn’t—they’re cold and critical, and they send a shiver down Derek’s spine and his own eyes darting away. It’s not because he’s a coward, it’s because he has to fight the urge not to bare his fangs, flash his eyes and growl at the man.

“Why do you want to marry my son, Derek?” Noah questions, curtly.

Derek’s heart just about quits before it ramps back up. He grabs his glass of whiskey and coke from earlier, sipping it to wet his dry mouth. The ice cubes are mostly melted, making the soda flat and the drink watery.

Derek clears his throat, looking at the sheriff, trying to ignore the terrible burden he has of needing to say exactly the right thing. “I, uh, um…” Derek doesn’t really have an answer because he’s not entirely sure if he wants to marry Stiles. There’s a definite urge there to go through with it, spurned by loneliness and desperation, maybe, but also unlikely. Derek has a vague understanding that neither dates nor sex would be hard for him to come by—well, might be a little difficult now given his newly tarnished and homosexual reputation.

Nevertheless, if he wanted someone, anyone, to fill an empty, broken void inside himself, he could have found plenty of willing and _female_ participants by now. That would be easier, he thinks. No public ridicule, less staring eyes, and nothing to be ashamed about. So, yeah, Stiles is not an easy road to go down, but the destination, he hopes, is worth it. Because, he thinks, he _feels_, that Stiles is different. Different than Kate, and different than any woman since Stiles, is _Stiles_, and maybe there’s a part of Derek, a wolfish, fiendish part, that revels in the fact that Stiles is an omega, perhaps even thinks he’s all the more perfect for it.

Stiles turns his head Derek’s way, giving the wolf’s waist an encouraging little squeeze before bringing up his hand, smoothing his palm along the back of the Derek’s neck, it’s gentle and warm. Fingers curl over the side of his neck and pull the wolf closer as Stiles leans up, pressing a kiss to Derek’s cheek as he playfully mutters, “It bet it has something to do with my charming personality and my extra, extra, _extra_ good looks.”

Derek doesn’t really know what Stiles just said. PDA always makes Derek a bit stupid as his mind screams with rising anxiety, but he doesn’t resist—doesn’t really even want to—as Stiles presses another kiss to his temple. It makes his heart beat a little faster and his underarms feel sweaty. He knows people are looking, can hear them whisper, can hear them use words like ‘gay’ and ‘fags’ and ‘have they no shame?’

Derek tries to tune them out by keeping his vision on Stiles and the bright amber eyes looking right back at him. Kate used to look at him like he was an opportunity. Stiles, right now, though not for the first time, looks at him like he hung the moon. There’s a very big distinction to be made here, Derek thinks.

With his mouth once again dry and pasty, Derek brings his drink to his lips, taking two quick swallows before putting the glass back on the table and turning his attention to the sheriff. “It’s, well, I guess it’s the way you… _he_, makes me feel.” Derek pauses, trying to gather his thoughts and make some sense out of them, “Stiles has a way of, you know,” he shrugs, waving a hand, feeling awkward and embarrassed, “making the world not seem so bleak.” Noah stares, and Derek stares back. “I meant what I said earlier.”

Stiles gently nudges the wolf, asking, “What did you say?”

Derek peels his attention away from the sheriff and sets it back on Stiles. He sucks in a deep breath, face feeling uncomfortably hot. “I said you were sunshine.” Derek instantly feels a bit dumb, even a bit childish, for admitting that, especially with Peter silently, but avidly watching. Still, that doesn’t take away the truth from the matter. Stiles _is _sunshine.

Derek can smell just as much as he can see the way Stiles’ cheeks flush the prettiest of petal pinks. It makes the wolf in him want to kiss the omega just to see if he can taste it, too. Stiles is also smiling, snorting with laughter, clearly embarrassed, but not the bad kind. He playfully shoves at Derek, not quite knowing how to compute such an unexpected compliment. It makes the wolf think he ought to give the omega more of them in the future.

“You’re ridiculous,” Stiles happily says, eyes made sparkly from the twinkling lights or maybe the booze. “I can’t wait to marry you. I’m gonna be the luckiest guy there is. I mean, I already am lucky, you’re here with me now, but like, let’s lock this shit down.” Stiles chortles as he gives Derek’s arm an aggressive little shake. “Can’t have you changing your mind and getting away.”

Peter drunkenly nods along with Stiles’ rambling, martini glass in his mouth as he drinks. He lifts the glass away from his lips, arm slightly swaying as he asks, “And what would you do if he did?”

“Get a way?” Stiles questions, brow raising. He meets Derek’s curious gaze and very seriously says, “I’d hunt you down and drag you back. You’re _mine_.”

A silence looms over the table, nobody saying anything. Derek stares wide-eyed at his omega, head cocked because he doesn’t think the human is joking. Stiles cracks a smile and bursts out laughing, jovially smacking Derek’s arm, like he got him, he got him good. Derek isn’t so naïve, but the laughter does break the tension, and the wolf awkwardly chuckles along with Stiles, equal parts terrified and turned on.

Peter howls with laughter, too. It’s odd considering Derek’s never heard him laugh before, not like this. It would be nice if it weren’t for Derek getting the very distinct feeling that Peter is laughing _at _him in a ‘you’re fucked’ sort of way.

Derek’s eyes slide to the sheriff who sits stoically, expression displeased. He’s looking at his son, though, and Derek wonders if he gets it, if he understands that Derek is just a fly trapped in Stiles’ web. A very smitten fly trapped in a very alluring web belonging to a very beautiful spider. So beautiful, in fact, that Derek might not mind being eaten alive, he thinks he might actually enjoy it.

Noah flicks his gaze to Derek and his expression turns sour. He looks like he’d rather let his son starve than have him eat a lowly little fly like Derek. He looks at the wolf like he’s poison. Derek would like to deny it, but he’s not entirely sure it’s untrue.


	34. Chapter 34

Peter’s eyes are the kind of blue that remind Derek of the ocean. They’re not the warm, tropical kind, though. They’re dark, raging, stormy seas. They look at the alpha now, soft but unhinged, a madness that lingers behind them which Derek can only blame himself for.

The omega sips a small liquor bottle that he’d stolen from the mini fridge in Derek’s motel room. They’d walked here, only a short distance from the restaurant, Peter unwilling to let Derek drive his Tesla and was far too drunk to drive himself.

The night air is crisp and the hoots of an owl can be heard from a nearby tree. Derek can also hear someone snoring in their motel room, and in another, a bed creaking for reasons the wolf doesn’t want to think about. He sits outside his door on a rickety plastic chair that was once white but is now a faint yellow. His mother sits beside him, relaxed, one leg sprawled out in front of him as he smokes a cigarette that smells like more than just tobacco. It’s perched between his right index and middle finger, little liquor bottle clutched in his left hand.

The parking lot has a few streetlamps here and there, providing an orangey-yellowy glow. They flicker every now, moths gathering around their light. The moon is also high and bright and nearly full, Derek can feel it tugging at him, goosebumps on his skin like the moon is trying to pull the wolf right out of him.

Still, it’s his mother’s stare that Derek feels the most. He turns his eyes and meets Peter’s gaze. Peter smiles a friendly, albeit slightly unnerving smile and lifts a hand, offering up his smoke. Derek shakes his head no, he’s never been one to self-medicate, even in the worst of times. The omega shrugs his shoulders in a ‘suit yourself’ sort of way, pouring the rest of his drink in his mouth. He drops the bottle to the ground, it lightly clinking along the concrete and rolling under his chair.

Peter keeps on looking at Derek as he brings the cigarette to his lips, inhaling, smoke billowing from his nose and mouth a few moments later. Derek lets his mother stare, his own eyes wandering away. He watches the moths fly steadfast into the streetlamps over and over, and he can’t help but wonder if perchance, he’s not a werewolf after all and is actually just a big, dumb moth, fluttering and flapping about, diving headlong into the flame that is Stiles.

What if, at the end of the day, that’s all Stiles is? Just a light. A beacon of bright nothingness that Derek will die trying to force his way into.

Peter slowly blinks, clearing his throat. “You’re thinking about that omega,” Peter muses. That would be a cunning observation if Derek wasn’t always thinking about him. “You make a face when you think about Stiles. It’s very pensive.”

Derek doesn’t know what to say, so he says something that has been on his mind, something he doesn’t quite know how to handle. “Stiles wants me to stay in Beacon Hills.”

Nothing about Peter’s face changes. If it bothers Peter, Derek couldn’t say. “Of course, he does. This is his home.” Peter flicks his cigarette, ash falling away. “He’s crazy about you, though. He’ll follow you wherever.”

Derek scrunches his face a bit. Stiles is certainly crazy, but there’s a part of the wolf that still worries, that wonders, what if? What if Stiles isn’t the quirky, cute kind of crazy? What if he’s more like Kate?

“Do you think he’s sincere?” Derek asks.

Peter lazily turns his head the alpha’s direction, eyeing the wolf in such way Derek feels almost naked, like if he had secrets, Peter would see them. “You’re contemplating marrying him, but you don’t trust him?”

“I don’t trust anybody.”

Peter frowns, taking another long drag of his cigarette, exhaling as he slouches in his chair, getting comfortable. He crosses his arms over his belly, his head resting against the stucco wall.

He stares at Derek again, not that he really ever stopped, eyes red around the rims—the wolf not only still tipsy from earlier but evidently stoned as well. “I didn’t know what to think about all this at first.” Peter points at Derek with the hand that holds his smoke, then directs it somewhere off in the distance while saying, “You and _Stiles_,” he hisses the name, but there’s a fondness there, Derek can tell. “I never expected things to go the way they did… I mean, I expected Stiles to do what any omega with half a brain would do,” which is what exactly? “but I didn’t expect you to be so… _receptive_.” _Oh_. Peter pauses, giving Derek’s foot a light kick. “Stiles can’t fake the pheromones he’s giving off. If you don’t trust his word, you can at least trust those. He’s practically drunk on oxytocin.”

Derek struggles to accept that answer. “What if it’s just lust, and not, you know,” _love_. He waves an awkward hand, “_more_?” What if he’s using me? Derek leaves unsaid. Using him for what, Derek himself, doesn’t even know. He’s just terrified of getting hurt. Worse yet, what if something were to happen to Peter?

Peter’s gaze hardens, becomes more intense, more resolute. The alpha is sure Peter can see right through him, can read between the lines and scent his worries. “He looks at you like you’re a dream come true.”

Derek tenses, bites his tongue just to feel pain. “I’m not,” Derek says.

“You are to someone like him.”

“An omega?” Derek queries.

Peter nods, glancing away as he puts the cigarette to his lips, taking a puff. “He’s extraordinarily lucky to have found you.” Stiles didn’t find him, though. Peter put Stiles in his trunk and all but threw him at Derek.

Derek finds his mother gaze, meeting it, holding it, trying to insinuate the seriousness of what he’s about to say next. He confesses, “I feel like I’m the lucky one.”

Peter smiles, mostly teeth, it’s not a friendly thing. “I _knew_ you’d like him,” he darkly utters.

Something in Derek seizes, makes his body go rigid. “No, you didn’t.” Derek refuses to believe that.

Peter’s gaze loses whatever little warmth it had behind it. “Sure, I did. He’s exactly the kind of omega your father enjoyed.” Derek doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he just doesn’t. He tries not to think about it either. In fact, he pretends he didn’t hear it at all, otherwise he might feel conflicted. He might feel guilty. He might feel like there is something truly and inherently wrong with him.

Peter takes one last puff of his smoke before tossing it by his feet and squishing it with his heel. He doesn’t take his sight off the alpha, though. He reaches out, running a lone finger over the curve of Derek’s jaw. “Sometimes, when I see you out of the corner of my eye, especially when you wear this coat of your father’s,” he tugs on the collar of the leather jacket, “I think it’s him. I think he’s back, it steals my breath away, and then it’s like losing him all over again when I realize it’s just _you_.”

Derek grits his teeth and looks away from his mother, hurt, so he tries to hurt back. A pillar of maturity, he is not. “You’re stupid for loving him.”

Peter doesn’t blink, he doesn’t jolt at the words. He’s stays entirely unaffected. “Every omega that has ever loved an alpha is stupid.” Derek thinks there might be some truth to that.

“I was once like Stiles, you know?” Peter tells Derek. “Pretty, happy, full of _hopes_ and _dreams_,” he mockingly says.

Derek frowns, knows he’s being baited, so he doesn’t ask what happened because it’s easy to assume. His father happened. Derek happened. So, instead he asks, “What were your dreams?” Because he should know, right? He should know these things about his mom.

Peter scoffs, rolling his eyes. “It doesn’t matter.” It _does_ matter, but Derek doesn’t know how to say that.

“Humor me. What was your biggest one?”

Peter’s incredulous eyes land on Derek. “Really?” Derek nods. “Huh…” He pauses a moment, thinking. “A big family, I guess.”

“Seriously?” For some reason Peter doesn’t strike Derek as that kind of omega.

“Yeah, why? You don’t believe me?”

Derek shrugs. “You seem, so… I don’t know, independent.”

Peter waves him off, chuckling bitterly as he reaches into his coat, pulling another smoke from an inner pocket. He sticks it in his mouth, sliding a zippo from the front pocket of his pants, flicking the lid open and using the flame to light his cigarette which in turn, eerily illuminates his face.

“I didn’t used to be,” Peter says, smoke billowing from his mouth. He clicks the lighter closed, snuffing out the flame, sliding it into his pocket. He leans his head back against the wall, cigarette between his lips as he closes his eyes. He pulls it from his mouth as he says, “I’d dream about noise. I think just about every wolf wants that. My grandmother’s house was always quiet with just the two of us. There was no life in it. Any wolf could have sensed its emptiness. It had no heart or soul. That’s what pups are for.”

Peter takes a puff of his smoke, smiling at whatever imagery he conjures up in his mind. “I’d dream of a house, or a cottage… one of those French ones made of stone with ivy growing over it and lavender along the front terrace. It would be bursting with energy, the kind that smells like family. There’d be a garden, flowers and vegetables, and a creek out back for all my puppies to play in…” Peter chuckles at something he imagines. “Your muddy little footprints would be everywhere. When you were small there was no keeping shoes on you.” It strikes something in Derek, a soft, tender, startling nerve, to know that Peter hasn’t cut him out of his dreams. He doesn’t understand why he wouldn’t.

Peter opens his eyes, turning his head slightly to the side, looking at Derek more intently. “I thought I’d be the kind of mother that would bake elaborate desserts. Pastries and cakes and fucking _cookies_.” The omega furrows his brow. “Can you imagine?” Something in Derek aches, because, yes, _yes_, he can imagine. “I wanted to be the kind of mother that spoiled my pups rotten. Not with _things_. Just, you know, food, love, cuddles, warmth—the kind of stuff that make puppies thrive. I wanted to be the kind of mother I fantasized about having.” Peter tilts his head away, cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. He frowns, blowing the smoke from his lungs the opposite way from Derek.

“I’d dream of this impossible alpha, too. Broad shoulders, tall, terrifying, but not to me. Rich, handsome. I wanted him to be proud choosing me, an omega. I would’ve been perfect for him. I’d cook him the best food, give him beautiful, strong children. Anything he wanted and in turn, he’d be funny. He’d be smart. He’d be gentle.” Peter glances to Derek. “I hardly knew my father, but when I did see him, he was just… _cruel_. Heavy-handed. It made me feel small and insignificant. I hated that feeling. I wanted an alpha that would protect me from men like that. I wanted to be an alpha’s most prized possession. I wanted to be something he’d kill for.”

Peter takes another drag of his cigarette and sighs, it’s long and defeated. Their eyes meet and Peter’s gaze is heavier than Derek’s ever felt, it’s like the weight of the world is behind them. “I got a lot of it, didn’t I? Just not quite in the way I’d imagined. You gotta be careful what you wish for, Derek.” He looks his son up and down, brow creased, “But maybe you know a thing or two about that, huh? Once upon a time, whatever dream you chased ended up in smoke, didn’t it?”

Derek flinches and turns his vision away, staring blindly out at the parking lot. “It wasn’t my fault,” he mutters, claws digging through his jeans into the meat of his thighs. He doesn’t even believe his own words.

“Of course not, sweetheart.” Peter sounds placating, but it just gives the alpha the shivers. “That’s why I killed Kate and not you.” Derek whips his head to the side, eyes glowing red. They don’t often talk about that, but Derek remembers.

He remembers coagulating blood on charred, rotten floorboards. He remembers gaping claw marks sliced across Kate’s slim, pretty neck, and empty, lifeless eyes staring blankly up at him. He remembers almost feeling bad.

Peter’s right claws had been drenched in blood, slowly dripping. Drop.

Drip.

_Drop._

The omega lifted his hand up near his face, feral golden eyes admiring the blood. He brought it to his fanged mouth and licked across his four fingers, tongue dragging over his glistening claws. Eyes widening, head cocking as he had said, “_Oh_, now I get why you liked her so much. She tastes wonderful.”

Derek had vomited into the bushes out front as Peter dragged Kate by her ankles from the scorched skeleton of their house, her head sounding like thunder clunking down the lopsided porch steps.

Derek remembers being able to see his breath, even inside the house as he hyperventilated. The night had been still and silent save for his heaving breaths and his heart battering away at the backside of his ribs. There was no moon or stars in the sky, no bats fluttering, no crickets chirping, beetles scuttling, owls hooting, or raccoons scurrying through bushes—the night had been just as dead as Kate.

Derek used to think Peter was born without a soul—that’s what he’d grown up believing. Now he wonders if the fire had burned it out of him, or at the very least, the majority of it. Maybe there’s a few singed pieces of it left since, lately, Derek sees glimmers of how Peter once was.

There had been a softness to Peter that isn’t there anymore, a meekness that Derek doesn’t miss, but he also smelled of good things, comforting things, that his father had told him was a lie. He doesn’t smell like those things anymore.

There was just something about Peter, an aura, that Derek can only describe as angelic compared to what he radiates now. Derek remembers as a kid that feeling magnetized him and he had to fight with all his might to not be drawn in, to ignore the pull because his father would say the omega is nothing but a black hole, he was quick sand that would suck him deeper and deeper until he’d suffocate on the omega.

Nathaniel had described Peter as the embodiment of sin, he was a choice, a most tempting choice between right and wrong. Nathaniel had even admitted to Derek, that once upon a time, he’d been weak, exceptionally weak, and that’s how Derek was conceived.

Derek’s father used to say God made Adam and Eve, alpha and beta, while the devil conjured an omega to tempt Adam into sin. It made sense in a way, at least to Derek’s adolescent mind, but then the fire happened and soon thereafter he didn’t believe in God anymore, at least not one worth worshipping. Derek didn’t have much faith in a god that let whole families burn alive.

Derek used to agonize over the fact that Peter survived. It didn’t make sense. Why would God, out of everyone, choose an omega to live? Then Peter didn’t get better and Derek figured it was simply a punishment worse than death. It took awhile for Derek to realize, it wasn’t Peter being punished, it was actually himself. Sometimes, you have to lose everything to realize what all you had.

Derek had a mother. _Has_ a mother. That’s not a fact he’s willing to forget again.

The alpha eyes his mom as the omega sucks on his cigarette, Peter fiercely meeting his gaze and shooting him an unsettling little smirk. “You know I’ll do the same to Stiles, right?” Derek’s heart drops.

“Excuse me?”

“If he hurts you,” Peter clarifies.

Derek’s heart thuds rapidly in his chest. “If you ever—”

“I won’t,” Peter interjects. His smirk turns feral. “Unless he gives me a reason to.”

Derek flares his eyes a furious crimson. “I’m serious, Peter.”

“So am I.”

“_Peter_,” Derek growls warningly. “Stop it.”

“If he breaks your heart—”

“You _just_ said I could trust him.”

Peter nods, looking thoughtful. “For now,” he says, glancing away as he takes the last drag of his cigarette, the majority of it having burnt away without being smoked. He drops it, squashing the amber right beside the last one. He looks back to Derek. “Humans are fickle when it comes to love. They aren’t like us. They aren’t loyal. Werewolves don’t fall out of love like humans do.” Well, great. Just what he needs to worry about. Even if Stiles is sincere now, it doesn’t mean he’ll always be.

“Do you want my advice?” Peter questions. _Not_ _really_, Derek thinks. “Give him the bite.” Not going to happen. “_Or_, don’t give him reasons not to love you.” That’s literally impossible. Everything about the alpha is a really good example of what _not_ to look for in a partner. “I’m talking about Jackson.” Derek scrunches his face in confusion. “Don’t tempt yourself.”

Jesus Christ, how many times does Derek have to say it? “I’m not tempted.”

“Then do yourself a favor and delete his number from your phone.” Derek opens his mouth to protest, but Peter cuts him off, “Don’t give me any of that ‘he needs help’ bullshit. If you genuinely care for Stiles, if you’re serious about marrying him, then don’t talk to other omegas, don’t look at other omegas, don’t even _think_ about them. Don’t be your own worst enemy, Derek. Don’t put yourself in a situation where you could lose everything all over again.”

Derek steadily holds Peter’s gaze, eyes a vibrant red. “I’m _not_ tempted.”

Peter irises glow gold, gaze challenging. He holds out his hand. “Then give me your phone.” Derek grits his teeth, baring his fangs, snarling. Peter doesn’t waver, he doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t even blink. He wriggles his fingers, “hand it over.”

With a frustrated growl, Derek does just that. He digs into his pocket and slaps his phone into his mother’s palm. It’s no surprise that Peter knows his passcode. He easily navigates his way through Derek’s minimal contacts, deleting Jackson’s.

Peter turns off the screen and passes it back, saying, “You’re welcome. I just prevented you from making an ass out of yourself.”

Derek completely ignores Peter, scowling as he shoves his phone back into his pocket. He’s not particularly happy about what just transpired. He feels an odd sensation of guilt needling at his conscience. He’s not entirely sure if it’s from Peter’s reprimanding or the fact that Jackson is out there somewhere looking for a lifeline. Some kind of help. He’d asked Derek and, well, Derek failed. And to be fair, he barely even tried. If he’s honest with himself, he didn’t try at all. He been too busy being distracted by Stiles.

To soothe himself of the guilt, the alpha tells himself Jackson is probably better off without him. Maybe, Peter is fate’s way of intervening. Maybe the world is telling him to back off. Derek isn’t a savior. He’s not a hero. He doesn’t even want to be. He saw Jackson and thought, what if? What if he could have a brother again? Derek shouldn’t think about those sorts of things. He knows better.

Peter reaches into his coat and takes out yet another cigarette, lighting it just as a door creaks open a little down the way to Derek’s right, past his mother, and two doors away from his own. Light blue jeans are what he notices first, ripped at the knees and a baggy white hoodie. The person backs their way out the door, a muffled masculine voice from inside tersely thanking them for the good time.

It almost startles Derek when he sees familiar blond hair, cropped and a little ruffled up top. The bruised eye is now more green than purple and the split bottom lip is scabbed over.

“Be here the same time next week,” the voice from inside tells Jackson, a big hand pushing a few bills into a smaller, lither, paler one and quickly retreating. The omega nods, smiling a flirty grin, only to have the door slammed shut in his face, jolting him. The smile doesn’t linger, it falls off with a huff of breath, nose twitching and eyes shifting, sight setting on Peter.

“Hey!” Jackson calls out, “you got a smoke I could bum?” He idly walks over, sliding the bills into the front pocket of his pants. Derek can’t help but wonder if this moment, right here, right now, is actually fate at work or the Devil laughing.

Peter, dumbfounded, not used to being caught so off guard, grabs the whole pack from his coat’s inner pocket, flipping the lid open. A few smokes face down, filter up, while others are placed the opposite way around, presumably so the wolf knows which are laced with wolfsbane and weed, and which are plain old tobacco.

Peter puts the lit smoke he’d been holding in his mouth and grabs a fresh one that’s filter up in the carton, handing it over. He puts the pack back into his pocket as he observes the younger omega, gaze sliding up and down, meandering over the furrow of Jackson’s brow, the tense slump of his shoulders and all the way to his awkward, slightly pained gait.

Peter pulls the smoke from his lips, asking, “Rough night?”

Jackson gives his head a slight shake, eyes downcast, as he leans his back against a wooden pillar that holds up the roof’s overhang—beige peeling paint scratching against the back of his shirt. As he puts the smoke to his mouth, he grumbles, “Same as always.” He tugs a cheap red Bic lighter from the front of his hoodie, head dipped as he lights the cigarette.

“You working?” Peter asks.

Jackson snorts, pulling his phone from his back pocket, quickly typing out a text with his thumbs as he says, “Why, you interested?”

Peter barks out a laugh. “Oh, honey, you are _not_ my type.”

Jackson sends his text, tucking his phone back into place. “FYI,” he cockily retorts, confidently lifting his eyes Peter’s direction, “I’m everyone’s type.” The alpha can pinpoint the exact moment Jackson looks past the older wolf and notices Derek. For a quick moment, the omega’s icy blue eyes dramatically widen, his pulse spiking, though he cools his features with ease and smiles at Derek like he’s absolutely famished and the alpha is a nice big snack.

The words that come out of that omega’s mouth next, Derek never could have fathomed. “I’m open to threesomes,” Jackson flirts or something. Derek can’t be sure, he’s never been good at deciphering that kind of thing, plus he’s busy trying not wretch all over his own shoes. He genuinely has to suppress the urge to gag at the imagery that springs to mind from that simple, albeit horrifying sentence.

Honestly, Derek thinks, it’s criminal how offensive omegas are. Which begs the question… why does he like it so much?

Peter, wide eyed, and looking rather astonished, nods in Derek’s general direction. “We’re related.” If anything, that only seems to pique Jackson’s interest.

“He’s my _mother_,” Derek better explains.

Jackson’s brow raises in surprise. “Oh, _oh_ _geez_.” He glances away, cigarette in his mouth, brow furrowing. His embarrassment only lasts a few seconds before he turns his head back Peter’s way, eyeing him intently, pulling the smoke from between his lips. “You don’t look very maternal.”

Peter innocently stares up at Jackson, but Derek knows better. “And you don’t look like a whore,” Peter casually remarks, “yet here we are.”

Derek expects Jackson to be insulted, but instead he just snorts as he sucks on his smoke, nodding in a ‘touche’ sort of way.

For a few minutes they sit—well, Jackson stands—in relatively awkward silence, Jackson’s and Peter’s cigarettes dwindling until the two omegas both scuff them out. Jackson checks his phone once more, sending off another text before looking to Derek. The wolf pointedly does not meet his gaze.

“You look familiar. You’re that alpha I’ve seen on TV that’s marrying Stilinski, right?” Jackson asks like he doesn’t already know.

Derek doesn’t really want to acknowledge the omega since he’s thinking Peter was probably on to something. He shouldn’t be involved with this omega, not because he’s tempted, but because Jackson’s a fucking _prostitute_ and there’s no way this human isn’t a colossal amount of trouble. Besides that, associating with a freaking ‘omega of the night’ would be a terrible look for _anybody_, let alone an alpha. There’s just no way.

Nevertheless, the situation would become supremely uncomfortable if he didn’t at least acknowledge Jackson, so he grunts an affirmative.

“Hmm,” Jackson hums, clearly thinking. Derek wishes he wouldn’t. “Stiles is a weirdo,” Jackson says, “I can be weird if you’re into that kind of thing.” Um, no thanks, and no Derek isn’t. Derek is just into Stiles, who just so happens to be weird. It’s a complete coincidence. “I could be whatever you want me to be,” Jackson adds.

Derek’s eyes shoot up, looking past his disapproving mother and meeting Jackson’s firm blue-eyed gaze, reminding the alpha of icebergs in frigid waters. The omega doesn’t appear desperate, he doesn’t even sound desperate, but there’s a definite vibe of it going on that the wolf in Derek can’t ignore. It has his wolf intrigued and for better or worse, the wolf still wants.

It looks at Jackson and it _feels_ things. Strong things. Bite-y, make him mine, sort of things. Derek’s mouth salivates as his fangs itch to drop. He doesn’t let them because he’s not quite that stupid. The wolf in him is, of course. It wants to give the bite. It would do it right now if Derek allowed it because it wants. Oh, does it want. It yearns for the opportunity, snarling and snapping at the forefront of Derek mind, visions of pack and family, the eager fiend not seeming to care at all that Jackson, for lack of a better word, is trash. All it sees is _brother_.

Derek thinks Jackson is a horrendous idea. Besides falling for a hunter and getting his whole family killed, he can’t think of a worse one. Contemplating marrying a clingy omega he’s barely known a week, is a close runner up. So, Derek knows better since he’s the king of bad ideas and reaping their consequences. He _cannot_ bite Jackson. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. At least he thinks he won’t. His resolve… well, it’s never been something to brag about.

A silver Nissan sedan pulls into the parking lot, headlights rushing over them before they’re pointed away. It pulls up near them, Jackson saying, “That’s my Uber,” as he takes a few steps closer to Derek, looking down at where the wolf sits. He holds out a hand, “Give me your phone.”

Derek’s brow crinkles with confusion. “Why, you mugging me?”

Jackson smiles. It looks genuine, he looks amused, like he thinks Derek is funny. It makes the alpha feel nauseous in a nervous and uncomfortable, but not completely unwelcome way.

The omega wriggles his fingers the same way Peter did all of fifteen minutes ago. “Give it. You should have my number.” No, he shouldn’t. He really, _really _shouldn’t

“He’s not interested,” Peter bluntly states.

Jackson raises his brow, giving Derek quite the curious look. “Do you always let your mommy speak for you?” For the most part, yes. Life is easier that way. Nevertheless, Derek finds the temperature in his face rising.

He glances Peter’s way; the omega’s eyes a livid, glowing gold. Derek’s not quite sure what Peter sees—weakness maybe, as wolfish, golden eyes roam the alpha’s guilty features.

“What did we just talk about, Derek?” Peter tersely remarks.

Derek hardly remembers as his fingers twitch in his pocket, the pads of them nudging against the sleek metal of his phone. He slips it from his pocket, using his thumb to unlock it, handing it over.

“_Derek_,” Peter hisses. The wolf pays him no mind, too caught up in the way Jackson triumphantly grins, hand eagerly snatching away the device. It’s hard to not notice how handsome the omega is when his features light up. He has the kind of face meant for photographs, ones in magazines and on billboards.

Derek admires it in a way, like he would a work of art. A tragic piece of art that Derek finds relatable. Their stories aren’t the same, not nearly, but Derek knows tragedy. He is one. So, yeah, Jackson makes him feels things—it isn’t sexual, it’s not attraction, but it is a longing, one Derek can’t quite explain.

Jackson doesn’t hand back the phone, he tosses it to the alpha’s lap, “Text me when you get bored of Stiles.” _When_, not if. Cocky, or false bravado? “You won’t regret it.” Derek doubts that very much.

With that said, the omega saunters away and toward the car, hopping inside, though before he closes the door he glances to Peter. “Thanks for the smoke.”

Peter smiles, though it’s more of a pained smirk. “My pleasure.”

As the car drives away, Derek lifts his phone from his lap. He goes into his contacts and looks at Jackson’s number. It’s familiar. Not enough for Derek to have it memorized—it’s just enough for Derek to know it’s the same one that had been erased from his phone earlier.

Peter tries to snatch the phone away, but Derek is quicker. He tucks it safely inside a pocket. “You can’t actually be that stupid,” Peter incredulously remarks.

Derek shrugs. He might just be.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I so love writing Derek/Stiles fluff. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Derek dreams of a roaring fire and smoke that chokes him, stinging his eyes so fiercely it blinds him. Tears stain trails over the soot on his cheeks, heat blistering his skin, peeling it away like layers of an onion. He scrambles through flames and smoldering embers, following the sound of his siblings screams, trying desperately to reach them, to save them.

He doesn’t. He never does, not in this particular nightmare. He’ll crawl through the inferno for what feels like miles, the screams only sounding further and further away until everything goes silent save for the crackle of flames and the creaks of his house being swallowed by fire.

He sobs, not because of the pain, but because of the emptiness he feels inside himself. Bonds of his siblings and father not severed, but dead, making blackened gaping unfillable holes in his heart—graves carved into the deepest depths of his soul, weighted as heavily as the earth itself, scorching like the heat of hell were licking his bones, swaddling him in grief and horror and agonizing regret that will surely haunt him for the rest of his life and even thereafter.

The fight leaves him, he collapses onto his back, sprawled out, ready and willing to die. Fire engulfs him as he miserably stares up at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom, never having managed to escape it, flames rolling over it like waves of the ocean, plastic glow in the dark stars melting away, dripping on him like acid rain, sizzling his skin.

He doesn’t die. He just burns for eternity.

Derek abruptly wakes in a chilly, empty motel room that smells musty and like a thousand other sad souls. Dazed at first, eyes tear slick and sobs still wracking his body, it takes a moment for the wolf to even realize he’s awake, that he’s no longer burning in his old bedroom, that the dream wasn’t real.

A tidal wave of relief washes over him as he sits up, sniffling, swiping away his tears with his two hands as threadbare sheets pool around his waist. He looks around the bleak room and reality comes crashing back, relief vanishing. His house is still charcoal in the woods. His family is still dead.

Derek’s face scrunches up, eyes glistening with tears as he tries to fight off the urge to curl up in a ball and just cry the day away. It used to be anger—irate fury at the unfairness of it all—that would ravage its way through him, forcing him to flail his fists and swipe his claws until there was nothing but a heaping indistinguishable mess surrounding him, much like how he felt on the inside.

He doesn’t feel that fury anymore, just a dark, unsettling, hopeless acceptance that his family is dead and it’s all because of him.

Derek forces himself out of bed, quickly showering. If he ugly cries so hard snot blocks his nose and dribbles over his lips as he washes, well, that’s between him and the shower, and try though it might’ve to wash away the alpha’s sorrows, it failed like all the showers before it.

When Derek’s toweled off and dressed in blue jeans, a plain t-shirt and his dad’s leather jacket, he takes a seat outside his door, letting his hair dry in the sun as he munches on Doritos from a vending machine. He flicks through his phone with one a hand, chips in the other. He scrolls through Peter’s messages, tempted to say something, but the wolf ultimately has nothing of worth to say.

Instead, he taps the link he sent Peter the other day which leads to Jackson’s video. He wants to see the omega again, in person or otherwise, but it’s a broken link. A dead end. No video. No Jackson. Derek doesn’t know what to think about that. He tries searching it, both on google and YouTube itself, but has no luck.

Derek barely gets a moment to contemplate why this may be. He’s only outside for a few minutes before he hears a familiar rumble of an engine in the distance, making the wolf in him rumble as well, and less than a minute later his sleek, black Camaro is pulling into the parking lot.

Stiles parks the car in the designated space in front of Derek’s motel room, the wolf shoving the last few chips in his mouth and his phone in his pocket, brushing crumbs off his lap. Through the windshield he sees Stiles grinning like the loon he is, giving the alpha a quick and erratic little wave. Derek’s pulse elevates as he sucks in an excited breath, the slightest of smiles playing on his lips, his pretty omega a sight for sore eyes indeed.

Stiles cuts the engine, throwing open the car door, emerging from the vehicle with two frappuccinos, one a berry pink and another a coffee brown. The omega babbles a cheery ‘hello’ and a bunch of other things Derek hardly notices. Stiles says something about a drive-thru, a garbage can overflowing, a murder of crows, and bad omens. Derek isn’t following, he’s distracted, really distracted, his vision feasting on the sight of the beautiful boy before him.

Stiles’ pants are a far cry from the baggy jeans he wore yesterday evening in the sheriff’s presence. They hug his hips and only have a bit of give over his thighs, the hems around his ankles are rolled up slightly, fitting snug.

Stiles uses his hip to close the car door, neglectfully leaving all the windows down. Under normal circumstances that would irritate Derek because of bugs and critters and bird shit, but his gaze has traveled the length and perfect curves of Stiles’ body, reaching his top half, and he decides these are not normal circumstances at all.

Stiles is wearing flannel again, plaid with striking blues and greens, sleeves haphazardly pushed up his forearms, but that’s not what catches Derek’s breath, no, not nearly. Stiles has only one button done up, right in the middle, the shirt fluttering open here and there in the breeze. There’s nothing underneath. Derek sees a flash of navel and nipple, of beauty marks and creamy, delicate skin.

Derek wonders what would possess the omega to wear so little, to dress so provocatively. Has he no shame? The wolf in Derek kind of hopes he doesn’t. Even Derek himself kind of likes that he might not. It stirs a little something in him, it niggles at the literal fiend in him, it makes him want to lick and nip his way over Stiles’ delectable belly. He wants to dip his tongue into the human’s navel. He wants to drag his claws over Stiles’ pretty flesh, making goosebumps and pink lines rise—he wants to taste those, too.

His gaze drops again, hungrily eyeing the omega’s subtle bulge. The wolf in him quite desperately wants to bury its face exactly where it shouldn’t, it wants to delve its muzzle right into the crotch of Stiles’ jeans and _live_ there.

“Are you even listening to me?!” Stiles bleats, pushing the larger of the two frappuccinos into Derek’s hands.

Derek absentmindedly nods as he forces his eyes upwards and back over the length of Stiles’ body. It’s a nice view, a beautiful, outrageously lascivious view. Stiles looks like sin itself—an apple in the garden of Eden, and Derek really wants to take a bite. Even if it were to doom all of humanity, Derek thinks it’d probably be worth it.

They’re eyes meet, Stiles looking skeptical at best, but he smiles, it feeling a bit like magic. Stiles bends, entering the wolf’s personal space, happily pressing a kiss to Derek’s lips that the wolf in him all to eagerly returns, Stiles’ chilly fingers brushing along his jawline. Unfortunately, it’s just a peck and the omega doesn’t linger. It’s probably for the best, anybody could see them.

“This is your favorite, right?” Stiles questions, motioning to Derek’s drink as he pulls away, taking a seat beside the wolf. The same one Peter sat on last night. “Venti java chip?”

Derek critically observes the cup’s contents. “Extra whipped cream?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“With caramel drizzle?”

Stiles snorts. “Uh-huh.”

“_And_ graham cracker crumble?”

The omega gives Derek an exasperated but playful little look as he mouths his straw, sipping at his grande strawberry frappuccino. “You’re adorably high maintenance.”

Derek frowns. “Is that your way of saying there’s no graham cracker crumble?”

Stiles chuckles around his straw, amber eyes twinkling fondly. “I wouldn’t dare forget my alpha’s graham cracker crumble.” Derek’s heart skips a beat, cheeks feeling warm.

He glances away, grumbling, “Thank you,” as he brings the straw to his mouth. The cool, chocolatey-coffee goodness is perfect. Of course, it’s perfect, Stiles got it just for him.

“You’re welcome,” Stiles merrily sing-songs. “Like it?”

The wolf shrugs. “I’ve had better.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, turning his attention to his own cup. He wrestles the lid off, plastic creaking and cracking in his clumsy grasp. He drops the lid to the ground and uses the straw as a makeshift spoon, attempting to scoop up the whipped cream. Nine times out of ten, it slides off the straw before the omega can get it into his mouth.

Stiles accidentally drips whipped cream on his pants, over the front pocket of his shirt, but when it flops off the straw, and down his chin and onto the bare skin of his chest, right between his breasts, Derek can’t help but be envious of the finger he uses to swipe it up. When he presses the finger between two perfectly pink lips, sucking the cream off, Derek dies a little.

The omega side-eyes the wolf, pulling out the straw from his drink, licking the end of it. “You’re staring.” Is it really any wonder? Is it really such a surprise that Derek can’t help but look at the complete and utter spectacle Stiles makes of himself?

“No, I’m not,” Derek lies.

Stiles turns his head the wolf’s way, brow incredulously raised. “Your eyes have flashed red like four times.” Well, that’s embarrassing.

In Derek’s defense, “You look nice today.”

Stiles flushes from his chest, all the way up and over his cheeks, skin turning rosy as he awkwardly laughs, “Fuck off.” He’s smiles like he’s happy, though, head bashfully ducked as he gazes at the wolf, totally unsure, totally unaware of just how beautiful he is.

“You fuck off,” Derek teasingly retorts.

Stiles laughs, the corners of pretty, lively eyes mirthfully crinkling. “Nah,” he says, shaking his head, beaming at the wolf. “You’re stuck with me forever. You couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried.” Derek thinks that’s probably a red flag right there, but, honestly, he kind of just hopes it’s true.

Derek smiles a ghost of a smile, taking a gulp of his icy drink. Stiles smiles a pretty, contented thing in return, swirling his straw in his drink, sucking up a mouthful as he gazes appreciatively at the wolf through long, curled, auburn lashes.

Stiles swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, licking frappuccino from his lips, saying, “You look nice, too. You always do.” His pretty eyes lower, roaming over Derek’s coat. “You look so sexy in leather.”

Derek doesn’t know why he blushes, he just does. Heat fills his cheeks as longing fills his heart. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything quite like he wants Stiles.

_Mine_, the wolf in him growls. Derek feels the power of it reverberate in his bones, right to his core. Derek can’t bring himself to disagree with his wolf because, if anything, it feels like a fact, just the way of the world. The sky is blue, water is wet, what goes up must come down, and Stiles is _his_.

Derek struggles to contain the fondness he has for Stiles. The wolf in him wants to grab hold of the omega, sink his teeth into somewhere soft, and just never let go. They settle for something a little less drastic, Derek reaching out, tugging on Stiles’ crooked collar, straightening the plaid fabric. He lets his hand wander a little, the pads of his fingers sliding over the back Stiles’ neck, along his hairline. He squeezes, not roughly, and rubs his palm over the soft skin and little baby hairs.

It’s a possessive, ‘you’re mine’ sort of gesture, Derek knows it and hardly feels guilty for it. Stiles doesn’t know it, judging by the way he’s beaming at the wolf, scooching his chair closer. Or maybe Stiles does, and just likes it. Derek wouldn’t put it past him.

Their arm rests clack together as Stiles sidles up next to him. The omega angles his legs and body toward the wolf, one hand reaching up, splaying over the alpha’s cheek pulling Derek closer, pressing warm, zealous kisses along Derek’s jawline. Stiles is smiling against Derek’s scruff, strawberry breath fluttering across the wolf’s skin. Derek thinks this is what heaven is made of—soft hands, pretty lips, and _Stiles_.

The omega tilts the alpha’s face a bit more, just enough that their mouths touch. Derek knows he shouldn’t entertain this kind of behavior, not in public where anyone can see at least, but he does anyway. There’s no one around and he’s running short on fucks to give, plus he’s got nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Stiles laughs into the kiss—it’s the sound of happiness, Derek can taste it, too, can feel the curve of smiling lips against his own. It makes him want to kiss Stiles all the more because there’s something addicting about it, something about it that’s contagious, has laughter bubbling out of Derek, smiling his own wide smile.

Stiles briefly leans away, bright, brilliant eyes flitting over Derek’s face. They only linger for a moment or two before Stiles is kissing him more—a peck on the lips, a chaste kiss on his cheek, a brush of lips over the tip of his nose, his brow…

Derek’s hand squeezes his icy-cool cup, wet with condensation, plastic creaking, claws extending from the ends of his fingers, clicking against the curved surface. His wolf wants out. It wants to nip and nuzzle and press Stiles’ face into his chest, bury his own in the boy’s hair, and just cradle him like that forever.

Stiles notices the wolf’s claws. It should spook the human, it would if he and had sense about him, but his eyes just sparkle with curiosity. He sets his cup aside on the ground and goes for Derek’s free hand, pulling it closer to him, examining the claws, pressing the pad of his index finger to the tip Derek’s middle claw, testing its sharpness. And then, to Derek’s astonishment, he brings the claws to his mouth and kisses those, too.

It’s a terribly intimate action that makes Derek’s mind scream with discomfort, not because he dislikes it, but because he feels painfully undeserving of that kind of affection. He swallows down the thickness in his throat, wrestles with the urge to push Stiles away, to make the omega stop touching. He doesn’t, though. He can’t, not when Stiles is looking at him like _that_, gaze nothing short of adoring, eyes crinkled with affection, plush lips reverent against his claws, pressing little simmering kisses to them.

“Your eyes are red again,” Stiles muses, the warmth of his breath fluttering over Derek’s knuckles. “It’s kinda hot.” It shouldn’t be hot, it should be scary, but then again Stiles is an idiot. A crazy, beautiful, wonderous tease of an idiot. The kind of idiot Derek might just marry.

“Do you like that I’m an alpha?” Derek questions, genuinely curious.

Stiles quirks a very animated eyebrow. “Uh, _yeah_,” Stiles says like he can’t fathom Derek thinking otherwise, “you could crush me.” Derek wrinkles his nose, brow furrowing, a bit confused since Stiles says that like it’s a good thing. “Do you think you could rip my head off in one smooth motion?”

“_Stiles_,” Derek warningly growls, yanking his hand away, retracting his claws. He doesn’t want to think about that sort of thing.

Stiles dramatically rolls his eyes as he swipes his drink off the ground, straw gurgling obnoxiously as he sucks up the last remnants of his Frappuccino. His gaze pointedly lands on Derek, lips twisted into a mischievous smirk around the straw, molars flattening the plastic.

“I bet that you could,” Stiles confidently remarks.

Derek briefly glances away from the omega, taking a gulp of his own frappuccino before forcing his eyes back. He lets them roam over Stiles’ features, they’re wildly stunning and wildly stupid, just as stupid as Stiles. Stupid kissable lips and stupid messy hair and big, stupid, falsely innocent eyes to go with his even bigger and stupider and beautiful brain that has absolutely no survival instinct whatsoever.

“You’d die in the wild,” the wolf states, making the omega snort with amusement. “I’m serious. You have no business _liking_ the fact that I could tear your head off.”

Stiles slowly chews on his straw, looking particularly thoughtful. “If I were in the wild, I’d find the biggest and baddest and scariest alpha werewo—”

“He’d eat you,” Derek interrupts.

Stiles laughs, shaking his head. “No way, man. He’d protect me. He’d protect me with his _life_.”

Derek cocks a brow. “Oh, yeah? Why? What would he get in return?”

Stiles smirks around his straw. “Me.”

“You think you’re that special?”

Stiles shrugs, smiling the sweetest, coyest thing. “You do.”

Stiles isn’t wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick question! I'm thinking of starting another Stiles/Derek fic. I'm just curious if there's any plot ideas that you'd like to see but maybe haven't yet? Or maybe you just have a favorite kind of idea that you'd like to see more of. I'm all ears. I have a lot of ideas, but I'd love to hear from some readers what exactly they'd be interested in.


	36. Chapter 36

Laura Hale was a force to be reckoned with. She might have been a beta, but she may as well have been an alpha. Of all his siblings, Derek was closest with her. She was a few months older than him—a fact Laura never let die—and those who didn’t know them would often mistake them for twins. Derek used to pretend they were.

She was fire while Derek was ice. She was exuberant, smart, and did everything with passion. She could charm a room full of people within minutes. Derek, typically, had the opposite effect.

Derek remembers watching her. Sometimes out his window as she puttered around the yard, pulling weeds, or when she’d mosey around the kitchen, opening the cupboards and drawers, the pantry and fridge, only to declare there was nothing to eat before doing it all over again. Even when she did the mundane, there was something about her that fascinated Derek. She had a way about her, like she was comfortable in her own skin, had confidence—a feeling Derek’s never really been able to relate to.

She was a star in the making, Derek knew this. She already was one to him, but when she performed in school plays or sang in choir, he imagined the whole audience knew, too, could feel in their measly human bones just how special she was. Every performance Derek would stand at the very back of the dark auditorium—far away from the rest of the family because he wasn’t supposed to be there—and he’d watch entranced as she danced with grace and sang with all her heart. He never missed a single show.

Talia would get angry if she happened to notice him there. She’d huff and puff after the show, claiming he had no business being there, that he was trying to make a mockery of her. Laura would always cling to Derek’s arm, a pretty bow in her hair while smiling in her gentle old soul kind of way.

“I need him at these things,” She’d say, squeezing Derek’s forearm with one hand, another lacing her fingers with his. “He’s my lucky charm.” Oh, how wrong she was. Derek thinks Talia knew that.

Laura favored Derek, he was aware of this. It would be lie if he said he hadn’t liked it. She was softer on him, spent more quality time with him. Even as they got older Laura would insist on camping out in the living room, burrowed deeply into a pillow fort, just to stay up all hours of the night reading comics.

Laura loved obscure ones Derek can’t remember the names of, though he wishes he could just so he could read them and be reminded of her. She also loved French toast with icing sugar and would make it in the middle of the night sometimes. She’d wake Derek up by crawling into to bed with him, plate wobbling precariously in her hand. They’d share a fork and she’d tell him secrets she’d trust no one else with.

She loved Cheetos, too. The soft kind, not the crunchy ones. Derek fondly remembers the Sour Patch Kids, gummy worms, and double stuffed Oreos she kept hidden under her bed since Talia didn’t like junk food in the house. There was always hell to pay if someone raided her stash, unless it was Derek who did it. Sometimes, she’d even put a few treats under his own bed just so he knew he was on her mind.

He thinks, looking back, he’d have never truly known what kindness was if it wasn’t for her. She had a pure heart and even purer soul and Derek had always felt like he’d be the one to muddy the both of those things. He wasn’t wrong about that. He turned them to ash.

Talia didn’t like how much time they’d spend together. Laura didn’t care, and for that reason, Derek didn’t either. She’d touch him a lot, too, all his siblings did, but she was different. She touched him like she knew he was starved for it. She let him nip at her throat and play with her hair, it smelling of citrus and honeysuckles. She’d cuddle him during movies and fall asleep with her head in his lap.

Sometimes, even though she wasn’t, she felt like his. Maybe that was worse—feeling something that wasn’t real, yearning for something that would never happen. They both knew, eventually, when he was bit older, he’d have to go his own way, make his own pack and while that thought had excited Derek, he still wanted what he couldn’t have. That’s always been a major fault of his.

Derek, propped up slight by musty old pillows, looks down at Stiles, to where the omega lays with his cheek resting on the wolf’s chest, one arm haphazardly slung over Derek’s belly. Derek thinks they’re snuggling. He’s not a snuggler, not since everything went up in flames at least, but Stiles is warm and pretty, plus he smells nice, like lust and want and maybe even a bit like love, too. So, Derek snuggles. He wraps his arms tenderly around the boy that he thinks might actually be his, and he watches.

He watches as amber eyes close, thick, curled, eyelashes fluttering downwards and over smooth freckled cheeks. He listens as Stiles’ rabbit like heart slows to a calming beat as his breath evens out, puffing through slightly parted lips. Then he wonders. He wonders what Laura would think if she could see him right now.

She’d judge him for his choice of lodging, surely, but would she judge him for his choice of company? He doesn’t know.

Way back when, he can remember Cora putting a toad in Peter’s bed and Joshua putting tacks in his shoes, Derek himself once thought he was so clever by putting Nair in the omega’s shampoo.

Worse yet, when Peter had come back from Eichen House, Derek had been angry. Things had been better with Peter gone, it was nice not having to see a constant reminder of where he came from, to feel the shame of it walking through the halls like a dark and bitter cloud. So, he put a dead rat in Peter’s coat pocket and hung a noose in his closet, hoping he would get the hint. Derek used to think he was funny, but now thinks he was cruel.

Laura never participated in those sorts of things. She’d turn her nose up and look wholeheartedly disappointed in Derek. Shortly before the fire she told him the easiest way to judge an alpha’s character is by how he treated those he thought were beneath him. He didn’t really get it at the time, but he thinks he gets it now.

Derek tangles his fingers in the back of Stiles’ hair, clutches at the strands possessively, and maybe a bit protectively since Stiles looks noticeably delicate and painfully young as he sleeps. Derek thinks—hopes—Laura would have liked Stiles. Would have approved. Would be happy that he’s happy, because he thinks he is, and that’s a brand-new feeling, a _good_ and terribly terrifying feeling.

Then again, there’s a very real chance that his fondness for Stiles, his interest and longing, is not a thing she’d understand or accept. Maybe she’d look upon them with disgust, or worse, she’d feel pity…

_Poor pathetic, _stupid_, Derek; he never was one to be able to control his urges, his baser instincts, and look at the mess he’s gotten himself into now. Tangled up in this omega, holed up some grim motel room as the whole world laughs at their farce of an engagement._

Stiles’ fingers twitch, gripping the front of Derek’s cotton t-shirt, fisting the fabric. He snuffles, eyes blearily opening, they glance around the room before he tilts his chin, sliding his gaze upwards in the direction of Derek’s face.

The omega gives him a sleepy, beautiful smile, mumbling, “I love you, Derek.”

The wolf stiffens, guts clenching, heart thundering in his chest as a wave of anxiety hits him. He doesn’t deserve Stiles, he doesn’t deserve happiness, and he especially doesn’t deserve love. Yet, all he can think is _fuck_ _the world_, let it laugh. 

Derek squeezes his arms tighter around Stiles, one hand sliding to the nape of his neck, the omega sluggishly blinking, eyes staying closed for longer than they’re open, until eventually he drifts back off. Derek looks to where Stiles’ hand is clenched, it’s a few inches below the boy’s chin, engagement ring prominent and a little out of place on Stiles’ masculine hand.

It makes Derek’s heart fluttery. It also makes him feel a bit queasy. He likes the way it looks, though. He shouldn’t, but he does, and he only feels a little guilty for it. It’s hard with the wolf in him feeling so damn proud about it.

Derek traces over the ring, turning it slightly so it’s perfectly centered on Stiles’ finger. He slides his own fingers between Stiles’ clenched fist and holds it, looking at their conjoined hands. Derek’s easily dwarfs his, skin practically golden compared to Stiles’ pale flesh. Stiles’ hand is soft, not dainty, nor the kind of hand that is used to seeing hard work. There’s a fine dusting of hair over the back of it, getting darker and thicker as it rises over his wrist to his forearm. There are freckles, too. A whole constellation of them.

For some odd reason, Derek doesn’t want to forget this moment, the way Stiles looks on him—sweet and peaceful, and like so much trouble. He leans to the side, taking extra care not to shuffle Stiles too much. He grabs his phone off the bedside table and opens the camera, angling it towards them. He takes a picture before he can think better of it, the phone making that obnoxious little shutter noise.

Derek tenses, feeling whatever comes after stupid. _Moronic_, his self-chastising brain supplies. Luckily, Stiles doesn’t stir and he quickly turns the sound off on his phone, ignoring that irritating voice in his head telling him what a fool he is.

Derek sighs, taking a moment to observe the picture. It’s about as good as to be expected. Stiles is particularly adorable with pretty eyelashes fanning over rosy, freckled cheeks, lips plump and pink, and maybe a little smooshed by the way he’s lying on Derek’s chest, but Derek likes it. He likes everything about the way Stiles looks.

Himself, on the other hand, Derek struggles to look at. He’s always been vaguely aware that he might be kind of a creep, but this picture is proof. With his thick eyebrows, piercing stare, and the terse clench of his jaw, he truly looks just like someone who would take pictures of a sleeping omega without their consent.

Never one to be quelled by better judgement, he returns to the camera, dips his chin, mouth in Stiles’ hair, kissing him in what Derek would like to firmly believe is in a totally chaste manner, although, in reality, it anything but, what with his eyes a stormy, possessive crimson and his fangs pricking hungrily behind his lips, claws grasped tightly in Stiles’ hand.

The wolf takes a picture of that.

He immediately swipes to the imagine, the wolf in him rumbling approvingly. Derek looks frightening, dangerous, just the kind of thing Stiles should be nowhere near. Yet, there he is, peacefully asleep on Derek’s chest.

Derek doesn’t know which one of them is dumber. Stiles for trusting a werewolf, or Derek thinking he might just love him for it.


	37. Chapter 37

Derek doesn’t know why he agrees to have dinner at the Stilinski’s. It was a momentary lapse in judgement, that’s for sure. However, the wolf can hardly be blamed, at least that’s what he tells himself.

Stiles had awoken from his snooze on Derek’s chest, hope burning behind his wildly pretty eyes as he eagerly invited Derek to come over for supper. Derek didn’t want to, because, for the most part, he doesn’t have a death wish. _But_, he was feeling particularly amendable from all the snuggles and Stiles’ scent and the way Stiles continued to hold his hand, fingers intertwined with his, the two of them sitting cross-legged on the lumpy motel bed.

_Plus_, Stiles’ plaid button-up shirt had fallen open, chest and belly absolutely bare which Stiles ignored like it wasn’t an issue, like it wasn’t a gigantically lewd problem. So, Derek said yes because gorgeous half-naked omegas named Stiles Stilinski render the werewolf damn near brain-dead.

The Stilinski house is homey but dated. It’s clean, but also looks straight out of the 90’s. Derek doesn’t mind the peeling seashell border wallpaper in the bathroom, the brass light fixtures on just about every second wall, or how there’s like six different shades of floral in the living room, because this place _feels_ nice. It feels lived in. There’s love here. Derek not only smells it, he can sense it.

Unfortunately, that love is not meant for him, and while Derek is a big wolf, he feels utterly minuscule sitting alone on the middle of the living room sofa. It’s red and flowery, and has a velvety feel to it. It clashes with the blue armchair across from him that Noah resides on, legs crossed, a newspaper on his lap, fingers folded around it. He stares at Derek like he’s contemplating beating the bad, _bad_ dog with it.

Derek’s armpits are sweaty and his heart beats a mile a minute, his anxiety making it hard to breathe. He has a feeling that’s the whole point, the sheriff wants him to suffocate on the sheer unpleasantness of the situation. Despite nothing being said, this feels an awful lot like an interrogation.

Derek tries to focus in on the sounds coming from the kitchen, the clattering and sizzling. Especially the constant stream of ‘oh shits,’ and ‘oh fucks,’ and ‘goddamn its.’ Stiles is an angry cook and for some reason that amuses the wolf. The animal in him likes the thought of his omega flustered and angry.

After a while of painfully awkward silence and Derek pointedly avoiding eye contact, he nods to the right where the kitchen hides behind a wall, making a move to get up as he says, “Maybe I should go help—”

Noah lurches forward, grabbing Derek by the wrist. “I don’t think so,” he firmly says. “We’re just getting to know each other.” Are they? Because it kind of feels like the sheriff just wants to see how much he can make the wolf squirm. That’s probably a cop thing. Or maybe it’s a protective dad thing. It’s hard for Derek to say. Either way he doesn’t like it.

Nevertheless, Derek resists the urge to snarl at the man as he yanks his arm away, plopping his weight back down on the couch. He tries to sit still, normally he’s pretty good at it, but _Noah_ with his unwavering, powerfully harsh gaze just keeps _looking_. He’s looking like there’s actually something to see other than Derek’s stupid face and the dampening stains under his arms. The sheriff observes him like Derek’s skin is a mere window into the deepest, darkest depths of the alpha’s soul, and judging solely by the expression on the human’s face, he really doesn’t like what he sees when he peers through the glass.

Derek wipes his clammy hands on the thighs of his jeans while trying to come up with something intelligent to say, but ultimately, he’s not an intelligent wolf, so he just asks, “What’s your favorite color?” Because the sheriff did say they’re trying to get to know each other.

Noah snorts, though doesn’t answer, but at least Derek can say he tried.

“I like turquoise,” Derek tells the sheriff as if it were some sort of fun fact. Most people, Derek thinks, wouldn’t guess that about him.

Noah makes a face, it’s a mix of disappointment and ‘what the fuck?’ “I honestly can’t figure out what Stiles sees in you.” Well, at least they have that in common.

Derek licks his dry lips and rolls his shoulders. “I’ll take good care of him,” he says, attempting to appeal to the fatherly, protective side of the sheriff.

“Stiles can take care of himself.” So much for that idea.

Derek nods. “Right… I agree,” sort of, but not really, “I just meant, you know, like…” Oh god, he doesn’t what the fuck he meant.

Noah blinks, a bit stupefied by Derek’s ineptitude. “What exactly did you mean, Derek?”

The wolf internally panics, forcing out the first thing that comes to mind, “That I, uh, I’ll be good to him.”

The sheriff grumbles to himself in a very displeased tone, uncrossing one leg to replace it with the other while appearing wholly unsatisfied by that answer. “That seems like the absolute bare minimum you could do, son.” Oh hell, ‘_son_.’ Derek wonders if Noah calls all the young criminals he arrests ‘son’ just to make them feel like they’ve disappointed a respectable father figure.

Derek, annoyed and agitated and feeling an awful lot like a wolf in a cage being poked by a sharp stick, fights the desire to flash some fang and growl. He does, however, fail at quelling the red glow behind his eyes which he can tell immediately sets the sheriff on edge. Noah uncrosses his legs and squares his shoulders, setting the newspaper aside, like he’s readying himself for a fight.

The wolf in Derek is kind of eager for it, too, which, of course, is why Derek is the one in charge. While the big dumb wolf in him may think it would be a grand idea to grab Noah by the neck with his teeth and give him a good shake, Derek is able to show at least some self-restraint and keep his claws and fangs to himself. He has an omega to appeal to, after all.

So, he slaps on a neutral expression, the closest he can physically get to friendly, and goes for honesty since the sheriff seems like the kind of man to appreciate that sort of thing.

“This is all new to me,” Derek admits.

“What is?”

Derek waves around the room, motions between himself and the sheriff. “_This_,” he says. Trying to get someone to like him is hard, especially when, under normal circumstances, he doesn’t want people to like him. He wants people to fuck off.

Derek has never been the sort of wolf to make friends easily. He’s never been to sort of wolf to have friends at all. He’s too standoffish. While most alphas tend to be at least a little charismatic—they have to be if they want to build a pack—Derek’s not. He’s not charming. He’s not funny or friendly or witty, and besides good looks and a hefty bank account, he’s not got much going for him. Typically, he gives off the impression that he’s a bit of a brute and kind of an asshole, and for the most part, that’s not an unfair assessment.

Derek kind of gets why Noah doesn’t like him. It’s fair, he thinks. Plus, he’s a wicked, evil, alpha… _supposedly_. So, onward he trudges since he’s really got nowhere else but forward to go. Well, there’s that little anxious and insecure ditty in his head telling him to run, to get the hell out of there and never look back, but like his wolf, he doesn’t listen to that, either.

Derek motions towards the kitchen as well, where Stiles resides, banging around and muttering obscenities. “Relationships, too… Stiles is new… I’ve never…” He wants to say this is his first _real _relationship. He wants to explain that he’s never been with an omega before either, and this is all uncharted territory for him, and that, sure, maybe he’s a fumbling, bumbling mess, but he promises he _is_ trying, that his feelings for Stiles are sincere. He promises that whatever Noah fears he’ll do, he won’t, because he’s just not that kind of wolf.

He says none of that, though. He’s not got the words for it. Plus, it seems foolish and pointless. He’d probably just end up embarrassing himself.

Still, Noah’s curiosity seems piqued. “Never what?”

Derek awkwardly shrugs. “You know…”

Noah scrunches his face in confusion as he cocks his head, staring at the wolf as he considers his words. “I don’t think I do.”

Derek huffs, rolling his tense shoulders, rubbing his sweaty hands beside his thighs, over the cushion of the couch he sits on, trying to make the movement look natural. It doesn’t. “I’ve never—” Derek falters, trying to come up with the right words. “There’s a stigma,” Derek tries to explain.

“When it comes to dating Stiles?” Noah asks, Derek nodding in return, earning a deep and sullen frown from the man. “I’m aware.”

“I want to be respected.” Derek thinks this is an inherent feeling at the core of every alpha. The problem is, Derek’s not very respectable. He wants to be, but as of late… “I want Stiles more.” Noah quirks a brow, unimpressed, so Derek continues, “He’s not a thing to me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I worry about a lot of things.” Noah leans forward, eyeing the wolf like he’s a wasp slowly drowning in his lemonade. “I see your appeal, I really do. You’re a very handsome guy, Derek, I’ll give you that. Plus, you drive a cool car and wear your dead dad’s leather jacket—” Derek’s brow furrows, “—yeah, I remember it, Peter used to wear it, too.” The wolf doesn’t know how to feel about that tidbit of information. “You’re quiet and mysterious and have a sob story to boot. On top of all that you’re a werewolf, but wait, you’re not just any werewolf, you’re an _alpha_. You’re dangerous. You’re a _predator_. Boy, I bet you make Stiles feel like a million bucks when you smile at him.”

Derek frowns, because the sheriff has things twisted. It’s pretty Stiles with his skimpy, slutty clothes and his angelic, yet devilish grin that drew Derek in. It’s Stiles with his omega scent and the way his doe eyes look at the wolf, all provocative innocence that lured him near. It’s tenacious Stiles with his warmth and kindness and kisses that made Derek never stand a chance. It’s not the alpha who is the predator here. It’s the omega.

“You’re a phase,” Noah continues, “and I’m willing to ride this storm out because I know my son. He’s a smart young man, he’ll come to his senses.”

Derek falters, and tries to keep his hurt from showing. There’s part of him that is genuinely scared that maybe Noah is right. Maybe Stiles will realize what a dud Derek truly is.

His vision falls away from the Sheriff, although he can feel how Noah’s remains on him, judging, assessing. Derek, stares down at his socks—white with grey heels and toes—as he tries to think of something meaningful to say. There’s an old and ugly Persian rug beneath his feet, mostly reds and browns and oranges. He kind of wants to sink into it.

Derek’s phone starts vibrating in his pocket. If he had any manners, he’d probably ignore it, but there’s only one person it could be. He straightens his right leg a bit, and slides his phone from the front pocket of his jeans, peering at the screen. There’s Peter’s name along with the same picture it always is. A very young Peter holding a bundled-up baby with wild raven hair.

“It’s Peter,” he grumbles, not bothering to look up. “I can’t ignore him.” Well, he technically could, but Peter would just call back. So, he answers the call, pressing the phone to his ear, skipping his normal ‘what do you want?’ and goes for “Hello,” instead.

“Hi, darling!” Oh god, Peter sounds downright chipper. That’s worrying.

“What do you want?” Old habits die hard.

“Don’t be like that,” Peter chastises, “Be nice to your mother.” _Oh_, that’s new. That’s _really_ new. Peter has never referred to himself that way, but then Derek, just yesterday, had insisted that’s exactly who Peter is to him. Having Peter say that, though, having him accept it, embrace it even… it incites things in Derek, wolfish, emotional, and very possessive things in him. That’s his mother. _His_ mother. **_Mine_**, the wolf growls within him.

“Are you busy?” Peter innocently questions. “I’m bored. There’s nothing to do in this town but drink and feel sorry for myself.”

“I’m at the Stilinski’s for dinner.” Derek doesn’t doubt that the omega already knows he’s here and is, in fact, busy. It would be very unlike Peter if he didn’t.

Noah clears his throat to gather Derek’s attention. “See if Peter wants to join. Stiles always makes extra.”

Derek nods and attempts to extend the invite, “Noah—” That earns Derek a frown from the sheriff, “Mister Stil—” That frown deepens into a scowl. “Sheriff Stilinski says you can come if you want.”

Peter tsks, sighing with disapproval. “You’re truly hopeless. Imagine the gentleman you’d be had I raised you.” It’s not hard to imagine what it would have been like having Peter raise him. It’s harder to picture the outcome. Derek fears polo shirts, boat shoes, and a fraternity might have been involved. Then again, had they not had his father’s money, maybe he’d just be a nice, respectful alpha that came from simple means. Maybe he’d be a plumber or an electrician that on his weekends would help out his elderly neighbor’s pro bono. Maybe he’d mow their lawns and clean their gutters, too. Derek bets Sheriff Stilinski would respect that kind of man.

“Do you want to come or not?” Derek snaps in reply.

“Oh, I couldn’t impose like that.” Derek suspects that’s exactly what Peter would love to do. “But if you insist.” Derek hadn’t insisted. “I’ll bring dessert. I made your favorite.” Derek’s heart skips a famished and greedy beat.

“Lemon meringue pie?” Derek questions, hopeful.

“Mhmm,” Peter hums, sounding rather proud of himself.

“You’re the best,” that thought is out of his mouth as quickly as he thinks it.

Peter chortles delightedly. “I know.”

Derek rolls his eyes, and says, “I’ll see you soon.”

“Love you, puppy.”

It feels awkward to acknowledge that, especially in front of the sheriff, and Derek’s tempted to just press that bright red button on his screen to be done with the call. That would be easier, but it would also be rude and fairly cruel to his _mother_, so he furrows his brow, staring intently at his knees as he admits, “I love you, too, Pe—” he hesitates, thinking about it a moment. “I love you, too, mama.”

Peter makes a choked off little gasping noise before promptly ending the call. A silence briefly lingers over the room, Derek awkwardly sitting there, pretending the sheriff doesn’t exist. Thankfully, his phone vibrates, lighting up in his hand.

Derek glances up at Noah, “It’s Peter again,” he says, eyes quickly retreating to his phone, looking at the text. It’s just an emoji, a crying one. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide open and a river of tears running down it’s yellow cheeks.

Another text pops up, this one has a couple dozen red hearts taking up the entirety of his screen. Derek smiles at them. He taps out a bunch of his own, sending a baker’s dozen of black ones in return. He thinks those suit him better.

“Are you two close?” Noah queries. Derek turns off the screen to his phone, leaving it on his lap when he brings attention back to the sheriff. He thinks about the question and he isn’t quite sure. He’s leaning towards no.

“We, uh, talk,” Derek tells him, but they’ve always talked, at least since Peter woke from the coma. Hell, Derek was talking way before that. Derek talked a lot.

As the years dragged on and Peter showed no improvement, Derek began to get desperate, afraid he’d spend the rest of his life sitting by Peter’s side, feeling relentlessly guilty and hoping for an impossible miracle. So, he began to talk. Though, mostly he’d plead.

“Wake up, Peter,” the alpha would demand, eyes blazing red, “Wake the fuck up.”

Sometimes when it was late at night or early in the morning, his emotions would get the better of him. He’d lean close to Peter, whispering in his ear. “Can you hear me? I _need_ you to wake up. You have to. _Please _wake up…”

Derek still remembers the smell of that nursing home, more like a hospital since Peter’s needs were so great. It smelled like sad old people, laundry detergent, bleach, and death. No amount of bleach ever got rid of the scent of death in the air. It was so thick it was almost palpable.

Peter, for the most part, looked like he was one of the dead ones. Sallow, scarred skin, his body ravaged by atrophy. His room wasn’t occupied, it was haunted by Peter and his machines. The drip-drip of his IV, the whirring of his feeding tube, and bleeps and bloops of his oxygen and heart monitors.

Then one day, like Derek had a thousand times in the past, he gripped Peter’s hand and told him to give it a squeeze if he could hear him… and he did. Surely, a coincidence. A twitch of muscle, Derek had thought. But it hadn’t been—it was a miracle, or at the very least the closest to one Derek has ever experienced.

At night, when Derek would let Peter know he needed to leave, to eat and to sleep, sometimes the omega would squeeze the alpha’s hand so hard his skinny fingers would give out. Derek wouldn’t leave those nights; he didn’t think Peter wanted him to.

His scars slowly began to fade and it wasn’t a long time later when Peter opened his eyes. Derek remembers just how hard his heart thumped in his chest when he saw Peters blue eyes for what might have been the first time in six years, but it truly felt like the first time ever. Derek cried, not in front of Peter, but alone in his car in the dead of night. He remembers the relief he felt. It didn’t matter if the devil had just woken up. Derek didn’t want to be alone anymore and he’d have sold his soul for that.

Peter would stare at him. He still does, but it was different back then. It wasn’t a disconcerting stare. It was like the omega couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, like the alpha was something to marvel at.

Peter slept a lot, too. He mostly slept. It was a Thursday when he talked for the first time. He was groggy, eyes barely open when he asked where Nathaniel was.

Derek had been wearing his father’s leather jacket. He always wore that jacket, sometimes he even slept in it, the thing more like a second skin. In that moment, he had tugged it around himself as tight as he could get it. It was not unlike the bear hugs his father once gave him.

“He’s dead,” Derek had hesitantly told him. Peter didn’t marvel at him anymore after that.

Days later Peter had asked, “What happened?” But Derek thinks he already knew. Nevertheless, Derek had no choice but to explain, to tell him about Kate and the fire and how it’s just the two of them now. Peter didn’t talk again for weeks, not even with Derek’s coaxing. Maybe it was a punishment. Derek can’t say. It doesn’t matter since the alpha deserved worse.

The thing about Peter is that you can’t trust him. Derek doesn’t necessarily think that’s an omega thing anymore, it could be, but it might just be a burnt-out shell of a werewolf thing, and that’s on Derek. For a long time, Peter pretended to be a lot worse off than he was. Derek would push Peter around the care home’s gardens in a wheelchair older than the both of them combined, some prehistoric monster with wooden wheels. It’s the kind of thing Derek had only seen evil old ladies in horror movies use.

Peter would complain about its stiffness, how it would creak along the pathway, tree roots raising concrete making the ride bumpy. He’d also complain about the smell of flowers growing in manure, the blotchy dried up grass, and empty bird feeders and bird baths. Derek filled the latter two just to make the omega complain less, and maybe to make him happy, too.

Meanwhile, Peter was plotting, sneaking out at night with Derek none the wiser. Not until he had to help Peter dispose of Kate’s corpse.

The funny thing about loving someone, it doesn’t just disappear when they murder your entire family. It’s just a mishmash of hate and love, fondness and loathing, dread and longing. Derek despises everything about Kate Argent, yet for the longest time there was still this needy, pathetic, childish piece of himself that missed her. It’s why he never could avenge his family. Derek didn’t know how to kill the woman he once thought would be his wife and the mother of his children. He just didn’t have it in him.

He understands that makes him a terrible alpha—the worst of the worst—but he has always been and likely will forever be a terrible alpha. So, in the end, his mother did his dirty work for him and Derek tries wholeheartedly not to think about that, and for the most part, he actually does a fairly good job of it. Until recently.

The sheriff clears his throat, getting Derek’s wandering attention. “Am I to gather that you two aren’t very close?”

Derek opens his mouth to speak, though his phone vibrating on his lap distracts him. His eyes dart toward it, hands reaching for the device. It’s Peter, of course. The omega writes, ‘_I’m really looking forward to seeing you._’

Normally, Derek would be a little concerned that Peter’s excited to see him. His skin isn’t prickling, though, and his wolf trots around in his mind just as excited, if not more so, to see its mama.

He tries to reason with himself. He just saw Peter yesterday, no need to be so eager. But he is, and it makes the wolf in him happy to know that his mother feels similar. It has Derek smiling at his phone again, typing out. ‘_Hurry up_.’

When Derek lifts his gaze, setting it back on Noah, the man raises a single curious brow, eyeing the lingering smile on the wolf’s face, “Peter again?” Derek nods. “Should I retract my last statement?”

Derek shrugs. “We have a bond.” That’s not a lie. Derek wouldn’t consider it a close bond, but he thinks they might be getting there. He wants to be there. “He’s important to me,” Derek adds. “He’s pack… he’s my _mom_.” It’s a weird thing to say out loud. It’s something he’s always known, but it’s not something he’s always felt.

The wolf flips through his phone, going into Peter’s contact and clicking on the picture to enlarge it. He leans forward, handing it over to Noah. “I don’t know if you remember, but your wife… Claudia, was it? She gave me this picture.”

Noah frowns at the image, looking a little disheartened. “I remember.”

“It means a lot to me.”

The sheriff nods, stiffly giving the phone back. “I don’t suppose you have many pictures of your mother.”

Derek shakes his head. “Not really. This is the only one I have from before the…” His voice trails off. He wants to say ‘fire’ but the word gets stuck in his throat and dies there.

“Hmm,” Noah hums, frown deepening as he thinks, glancing away from the wolf and towards the staircase. “Alright,” he groans, hands on his knees as he pushes himself up and onto his feet, aging, weary joints creaking. “Claudia liked to scrapbook. I’ll see what I can dig up from the attic. Go help Stiles in the kitchen.”

Derek does what he’s told.


End file.
